IINGOFAR 


RV1NG  K..POND,  C.E.,A.M.( 


;• 


THE 
MEANING   OF   ARCHITECTURE 


-•INDIVIDUAL  DEVELOPMENT 

THROUGH  W-frTHMIC  AND  CONCERTED  ACTIOM 

FR.ONTISP1ECE 


MAY  H9)7 


THE  MEANING  OF 
ARCHITECTURE:; 


An  Essay  in 
Constructive  Criticism 


BY 
IRVING  K.  POND 

C.  E.,  A.M.  (Hon. ),^ Architect 

Member  of  the  National  Institute  of  Arts  and  Letters,  Fellow 
and  Past  President  of  the  American  Institute  of  Architects 


ILLUSTRATED  WITH  DRAWINGS 
BY  THE  AUTHOR 


BOSTON 

MARSHALL  JONES   COMPANY 
1918 


Copyright,  1918 
BY  MARSHALL  JONES  COMPANY 


All  rights  reserved 


PRINTED    IN    THE    UNITED    STATES    OF    AMERICA 


This  book  is  dedicated  to  my  brother 

— my  lifelong  companion  and  partner 

ALLEN    BARTLIT    POND 

Through  his  sympathy  and  understanding,  in 

the  light  of  his  clear  thought,  and  under  his 

inspiration  I  have  been  better  able  to  follow 

those  paths  of  individual,  professional,  and 

civic   endeavor  in  which  a  rare 

ancestry  bade  us  walk 


'02 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

INTRODUCTION      3 

I  THE  ANIMATING  SPIRIT      n 

II  THE  MEANING  OF  ARCHITECTURE   ....  23 

III  THE  GREEK  EXPRESSION 37 

THE  UNDERLYING  CONCEPTION.    THE  DORIC 

IV  THE  GREEK  EXPRESSION 55 

THE  IONIC  AND  THE  DECADENCE 

V  ROME,  ROMANESQUE,  AND  THE  GOTHIC    .  75 

VI  ORIGINS  AND  ILLUSIONS 91 

VII  THE  SIGNIFICANCE  -OF  MASS  AND  FORM    .  109 

VIII  THE  ELEMENT  OF  RHYTHM 133 

IX  ON  SCULPTURE  AND  COLOR  IN  ARCHITEC- 
TURE     147 

X  MODERN  ARCHITECTURE 165 

IMITATIVE  —  CREATIVE 

XI  PRESENT-DAY  IDEALS 179 

XII  AN  INDIVIDUAL  APPLICATION 197 


THE 
MEANING   OF   ARCHITECTURE 


INTRODUCTION 


[2] 


INTRODUCTION 


IN  these  pages  I  have  attempted  to  enunci- 
ate an  architectural  principle  which  I  believe 
to  be  basic ;  to  analyze  the  forms  in  which  the 
animating  spirit  has  in  the  past  found  satisfying 
embodiment;  and  in  the  light  of  this  analysis  to 
study  analytically  and  synthetically  certain  aspects 
of  present-day  expression.  Much  of  this  matter  I 
have,  at  one  time  or  another,  outlined  to  the  stu- 
dents in  architecture  in  some  half  dozen  of  the 
leading  universities  and  technical  schools  of  this 
country  and,  now  and  again,  have  discussed  its 
various  phases  in  short  essays  and  club  papers. 
Very  frequently  I  was  asked  to  enlarge  upon  the 
theme  and  to  name  books  which  would  be  of  aid 
in  a  more  extended  study  of  the  subject.  In  re- 
sponse to  the  first  of  these  requests  I  have  pre- 
pared this  material;  and  until  it  appears  I  shall 
hardly  be  able,  even  in  part,  to  comply  with  the 
second,  for,  to  the  best  of  my  knowledge,  no  book 
exists  wherein  my  principal  theme  is  developed 

[3] 


adequately,  or  indeed  at  all.  During  many  years 
I  have  bf^en  seeking  to  fathom  the  relationship 
which  I  knew  must  exist  between  the  form  and 
.  the  spirit  in  art,  and  gradually  there  has  shaped 
'itself  in  my  mind  an  architectural  interpretation 
which  appeals  to  me  as  fundamentally  sound  and 
highly  illuminating.  I  hope  that  my  readers  may 
find  it  stimulating  and  suggestive,  and  that  the 
spirit  I  seem  to  see  animating  the  form  will  ap- 
pear to  them  in  as  lovely  a  guise  as  it  appears  to 
me;  and  if  it  does  I  know  that  there  will  be  awak- 
ened within  them  a  fresh  realization  of  how 
deeply  our  race  is  indebted  to  those  devoted  ones 
who  fostered  that  spirit  throughout  the  ages; 
above  all  to  those  early  Greeks,  who,  in  so  far 
as  we  can  now  determine,  were  the  first  to  kindle 
the  altar  fire  at  the  shrine  of  this  ideal;  and,  after 
them,  those  unnamed  builders  of  the  Romanesque 
who  nursed  the  embers  throughout  the  Dark 
Ages,  so  called;  and  then,  the  great  spirits  of 
mediaevalism  who  fanned  the  spark  into  a  glow- 
ing flame.  To  these  fire  bringers  each  lover  of 
light  should  bow  in  reverence  and  should  ask  him- 
self if  the  lovely  flame  is  now  to  become  extin- 
guished, or  if  it  is  again  to  be  a  torch  lighting  the 
face  of  art  as  it  seeks  to  confer  charm  and  nobil- 
ity on  all  sincere  human  endeavor  —  again  to 
illumine  architecture  as  it  seeks  with  high  idealism 

[4] 


to  interpret  the  meaning  of  life.  It  will  become 
each  lover  of  his  kind  to  search  his  heart  in  all 
humility  to  determine  what  'may  be  his  personal 
responsibility  and  his  real  attitude  as  he  stands  in 
worship,  or  in  smug  self-satisfaction,  at  the  shrine 
of  the  ideal. 

Although  I  do  not  know  of  any  book  dealing 
specifically  with  my  main  thesis,  yet  I  shall  name  a 
few  volumes  which  will  aid  my  readers  in  estab- 
lishing a  viewpoint  from  which  we  may  with 
mutual  understanding  survey  the  broad  field  of 
art.  In  this  wider  view  we  shall  detect  objects 
which  have  a  direct  bearing  upon  the  subject  in 
hand.  It  seems  almost  invidious  to  single  out  so 
few  when  so  many  books  have  "  lent  their  argu- 
ments " ;  however,  these  that  I  mention,  not  only 
develop  their  particular  themes,  but  contain 
bibliographies  sufficient  to  the  needs  of  even  the 
very  advanced  student  of  "  art  as  the  expression 
of  life."  They  are:  A  series  of  essays  by  Lisle 
March  Phillipps  that  appeared  originally  in  the 
Edinburgh  and  the  Contemporary  Reviews  and 
which  are  now  published  in  the  United  States 
under  the  title  of  "  Art  and  Environment " 
(Henry  Holt  and  Company,  1911)  ;  "  The  Classi- 
cal Heritage  of  the  Middle  Ages,"  by  Henry 
Osborn  Taylor  (The  Macmillan  Company, 
1911);  "The  New  Laokoon,  an  Essay  on  the 

[5] 


Confusion  of  the  Arts,"  by  Prof.  Irving  Babbitt 
(Houghton  Mifflin  Company,  1910);  "  The  As- 
cending Effort,"  by  George  Bourne  (E.  P.  Dut- 
ton  and  Company,  1911);  ''Greek  Art  and 
National  Life,"  by  S.  C.  Kaines  Smith  (Charles 
Scribner's  Sons,  1914);  "Four  Stages  of  Greek 
Religion,"  by  Gilbert  Murray  (Columbia  Uni- 
versity Press,  1912)  ;  and  an  altogether  sane  little 
volume  by  Ian  B.  Stoughton  Holborn,  entitled 
"  An  Introduction  to  the  Architectures  of  Euro- 
pean Religions  "  (T.  and  T.  Clark,  Edinburgh, 
1909).  These  books  are  recommended,  as 
stated,  for  the  purpose  of  establishing  a  mutual 
viewpoint  and  not  because  I  am  in  accord  with 
all  the  ideas  and  theories  advanced;  for  the  care- 
ful reader  will  note  in  this  volume  several  points 
of  divergence,  and  note  them,  I  hope,  with 
approval. 

It  has  always  been  my  conviction  that  art  pro- 
ceeds out  of  life;  and  while  I  maintain  that  as  life 
changes  its  bearings,  art  changes  its  forms,  yet,  as 
life  does  not  end  in  one  phase  and  begin  anew  in 
another,  but  continues  through  a  process  of  evo- 
lution, so  true  art  does  not  assume  a  novel  dress 
unrelated  to  past  idealism,  but  changes  its  forms 
in  historical  and  logical  sequence.  Therefore,  I 
have  studied  the  past  that  I  might  the  more  clearly 
detect  the  bearing  and  direction  of  the  present. 

[6] 


The  earlier  chapters  of  this  book  present  the 
results  of  that  study.  In  the  later  chapters  there 
is  an  analysis  of  modern  conditions  in  the  light 
which  this  study  of  the  past  sheds  upon  them.  In 
the  final  chapter  is  presented  my  own  individual 
application  to  modern  conditions,  of  my  theory 
of  life  and  art  as  deduced  from  my  study  of  past 
and  present.  I  am  diffident  about  setting  down 
in  cold  type  the  record  of  this  individual  effort  at 
architectural  interpretation.  It  has  been  given  a 
more  or  less  consistent  expression  in  many  of  the 
works  of  my  firm  during  these  past  years.  We 
have  been  austere  with  ourselves  as  the  record 
will  show.  The  past  has  revealed  many  beau- 
tiful forms;  but  we  have  not  adopted  one  or  an- 
other of  those  forms  just  because  we  have  loved 
it  nor  because  we  have  seen  it  amid  pleasant  sur- 
roundings. However,  when  a  form,  new  or  old, 
has  justified  itself  under  new  or  changed  condi- 
tions we  have  not  shunned  but  have  welcomed  it. 
In  my  final  chapter  I  have  attempted,  though,  as 
I  say,  with  great  diffidence,  to  extend  the  theory, 
and  I  do  so  because  it  is  my  belief  that  every 
artist  owes  it  to  himself  and  to  his  time  to  de- 
velop to  the  fullest  his  individual  expression  of 
the  best  of  his  time  and  place;  for  only  so,  and 
especially  so  in  a  democracy,  shall  the  race  reach 
the  full  aesthetic  expression  of  its  own  idealism. 

[7] 


I 

THE  ANIMATING  SPIRIT 


[10] 


THE  ANIMATING  SPIRIT 


THIS  volume  is  intended  to  fulfill  the  func- 
tion neither  of  history  nor  of  prophecy 
in  the  commonly  accepted  meanings  of 
the  terms.  It  is  intended,  however,  to  present,  in 
definite  measure,  the  results  of  an  earnest  and  con- 
stant search  for  the  sublime  essence  of  a  spirit 
which  has  found  embodiment  in  the  great  architec- 
ture of  the  past;  an  animating  spirit  which  mani- 
fested itself  in  crystalline  clarity  in  the  art  of  the 
Greeks  and  which  has  continued  to  abide  in  archi- 
tecture even  to  the  present  day,  though  again  and 
again  during  the  advancing  ages  its  presence  has 
been  ignored  or  its  existence  denied,  while  the 
forms  of  its  manifestation  have  been  accepted, 
ofttimes  to  be  employed  rightly,  but  more  gener- 
ally to  be  misinterpreted,  misapplied,  and  sorely 
abused.  A  logical  and  sequential  presentation, 
such  as  I  hope  to  make,  of  the  forms  and  manners 
in  which  this  spirit  has,  in  various  epochs,  found 
embodiment  in  architecture  will,  in  a  measure,  con- 

[n] 


stitute  history;  and  the  demonstration  that  its  influ- 
ence has  persisted  from  a  remote  past  even  to  the 
very  present  would,  after  a  manner,  seem  to  consti- 
tute prophecy — a  prophecy  that  this  spirit  will  con- 
tinue to  exert  its  potent  influence,  at  least  so  long 
as  human  nature  retains  its  apparently  permanent 
characteristics  and  attributes.  But  the  writing  of 
architectural  history  as  such,  or  the  utterance 
of  architectural  prophecy  in  any  sort,  are  aside 
from  my  purpose  in  preparing  this  essay.  That 
there  may  be,  on  the  part  of  the  reader,  a  clear 
understanding  of  the  media  through  which  the 
spirit  of  art  must  manifest  itself  in  its  architec- 
tural embodiments  I  shall  deal,  among  other  topics 
and  as  supplementary  to  the  main  theme,  with  the 
significance  of  mass  and  form  —  with  rhythm  — 
with  the  meaning,  character,  and  disposition  of 
ornament  —  and  with  color  as  giving  definition, 
producing  atmosphere,  and  bestowing  charm.  As 
preliminary,  I  shall  generalize,  for  a  brief  space, 
on  art. 

Man  has  been  struggling  upward  throughout 
the  ages,  struggling  to  attain  the  ideal.  By  this 
struggle,  conscious  as  it  has  been,  and  with  definite 
purpose,  he  is  marked  as  of  an  order  higher  than 
the  beasts,  which  struggle  for  existence  impelled 
by  habit  and  guided  by  instinct  only.  Habit  is  life 
in  the  brute  creation;  but  habit  in  man  has  been 

[12] 


aptly  denominated  "  the  soul's  tomb."  In  review- 
ing the  struggles  and  achievements  of  man  it  will 
become  apparent  that  habit  builds  the  tomb  of  art; 
that  when  the  spirit  no  longer  inspires,  but  forms 
are  repeated  from  mere  habit  and  for  form's  sake, 
art  has  ceased  to  live  and  the  architecture  reared 
in  her  name  is  her  tomb.  Art  is  the  attempt  to 
realize  the  ideal,  to  reach  a  standard  which  human- 
ity has  always  set  before  itself  and  which  is  always 
advancing  as  the  race  advances.  Art  is  the  at- 
tempt to  achieve  beauty  —  to  encompass  the  ideal. 
"  Beauty  is  the  Ideal."  To  make  the  matter  con- 
crete let  us  say  that  beauty  is  the  individual's  con- 
ception of  perfection.  The  fact  that  standards 
vary  does  not  alter  the  principle.  Standards  of 
beauty  must  differ  as  individuals  differ.  Under- 
lying and  unifying  these  standards  is  the  sub- 
conscious movement  of  the  race  spirit.  The 
individual  acts  consciously.  His  power  to  appre- 
hend beauty  depends  upon  the  nature  of  his  spirit ; 
his  capacity  for  refinement  of  distinction  as  re- 
gards beauty  depends  upon  the  quality  of  his 
mind;  his  ability  to  express  himself  in  terms  of 
beauty  —  that  is  to  create  beauty  —  depends  upon 
the  ingredients  and  compound  of  his  individual 
character;  on  his  attitude  toward  life.  Art  is  an 
expression  of  life  and  life  is  perpetual  change; 
therefore,  art  must  ever  change  its  forms  as  life 

[13] 


changes,  as  environments  vary,  as  circumscribing 
conditions  alter;  but  the  art  principle  remains  con- 
stant —  it  dwells  in  the  pursuit  of  the  ideal.  Art 
is  not  the  product  of  any  single  period  or  group 
of  periods.  It  is  not  the  possession  of  any  one 
man  or  group  of  men,  nor  of  any  one  race  or 
group  of  races;  it  belongs  to  the  ages  and  is  the 
common  heritage  of  mankind.  It  is  the  portion 
of  the  peasant  who  is  trying  through  his  work  to 
make  today  happier  and  brighter  and  more  at- 
tractive than  was  yesterday,  as  well  as  of  the 
potentate  who  commands  the  erection  of  galleries 
and  the  painting  of  his  own  august  portrait.  This 
is  not  to  say  that  all  individuals  or  all  races  at  all 
times  are  endowed  with  the  same  capacity  for  the 
apprehension  of  beauty,  for  self-analysis  or  for 
self-expression;  but  that  the  love  of  beauty  in- 
heres in  all;  that  some  ideal  at  some  time  is  before 
each  and  every  one,  and  that  the  aesthetic  expres- 
sion of  this  ideal  is  craved  by  all  and  in  greater  or 
lesser  measure  achieved.  The  culture  which  does 
not  recognize  this  is  an  incomplete  culture;  and 
the  society  which  does  not  place  before  its  mem- 
bers and  set  up  for  the  free  enjoyment  of  even  the 
lowliest  noble  and  inspiring  examples  of  art  and 
which  does  not  supply  opportunity  for  the  in- 
dividual and  the  community  to  approach  the  ideal 
in  the  relations  of  every-day  life  is  an  unenlight- 

[14] 


ened  society.  Art  has  sometimes  been  made  to 
seem  a  thing  apart;  a  thing  whose  products  are 
to  be  acquired  by  the  rich  or  gathered  in  chilly 
museums  or  mausoleums  and  on  holidays  or  dur- 
ing off  hours  contemplated,  depending  upon  the 
observer,  with  awe  or  with  reverence  or  with 
delight  or  abstractly  and  impersonally.  But  when 
we  know  its  lovely  form  and  face,  we  realize 
that  art  is  for  each  and  every  one  of  us  and  is 
essential  to  our  higher  being.  We  should  place 
it  in  the  same  category  with  our  philosophy  and 
with  our  religion,  for  all  three  are  inextricably 
bound  up  in  the  ideal.  Philosophy  is  the  child  of 
intellect;  its  field  is  contemplation,  and  its  search 
is  for  ultimate  truth.  Religion  is  the  child  of  the 
emotions  and  its  field  is  action;  its  search  is  for 
ultimate  goodness.  Art  is  the  child  of  intellect 
and  the  emotions;  its  field,  also,  is  action  and  its 
search  is  for  ultimate  beauty.  I  am  using  religion 
here  in  the  sense  in  which  it  was  understood  and 
temployed  by  the  contemporary  disciples  of  Him 
who  gave  His  name  to  our  Era  and  impressed 
Himself  upon  our  civilization.  I  have  not  in 
mind  the  creeds,  dogmas,  and  rituals  which  later 
grew  up  around  His  name.  They  belong  in  the 
realm  of  speculation  and,  not  infrequently,  of 
superstition.  I  have  not  in  mind,  even,  that  emo- 
tional state  which  is  superinduced  by  forms  of  art 


exercising  their  potent  psychological  influence 
upon  a  normal  mind  whether  it  accepts  creeds 
and  dogmas  or  no.  The  religion  of  which  I  speak 
may  be  summed  up  in  the  phrase :  He  went  about 
doing  good.  Religion,  then,  is  feeling  and  doing 
in  terms  of  goodness;  art  is  thinking  and  feeling 
and  doing  in  terms  of  beauty.  Religion  and  art 
are  elemental  and  independent  human  expres- 
sions, the  activities  of  which  it  is  the  province  of 
philosophy  to  hold  in  contemplation  and  to  relate 
to  life.  The  goal  of  life  is  perfection.  In  art 
the  ideal  sought  is  the  perfection  of  beauty;  in 
religion  it  is  the  perfection  of  goodness.  In 
science  the  ideal  sought  is  perfect  synthesis;  in 
philosophy  it  is  the  perfection  of  logic  flowering 
in  abstract  truth.  Truth  is  not  always  and  at  all 
times  apprehended  and  ideals  sometimes  become 
confused.  Confusion  is  not  altogether  confined 
to  the  realm  of  the  ideal.  The  functions  of  art 
and  religion  are  ofttimes  confused  and  the  rela- 
tion between  them  misinterpreted.  Art  has  been 
called  the  handmaiden  of  religion;  and  so  indeed 
it  is,  just  as  it  is  the  handmaiden  of  life,  minis- 
tering to  each  and  every  factor  of  life  impar- 
tially. Art  can  and  does  with  propriety  play 
about  the  forms  of  religion;  and  it  transforms 
the  habiliments  of  philosophy  into  literature  with- 
out endangering  the  content.  But  the  highest  art 

[16] 


cannot  add  virtue  to  religion,  nor  can  the  purest 
religion,  even,  add  aught  of  beauty  to  art.  If  art 
can  add  no  virtue  to  goodness,  by  the  same  token 
it  cannot  make  vileness  any  the  less  vile,  though 
vileness  so  often  seeks  to  make  its  appeal  in  the 
name  of  art. 

Art  is  the  handmaiden  of  life,  and  the  forms 
and  phases  of  its  ministration  are  many  and 
varied.  This  essay  is  concerned  primarily  with 
functional  art,  and  in  it  I  shall  endeavor  to  define 
the  concrete  as  well  as  the  abstract  relationship  of 
art  to  life;  to  do  so  I  shall  have  recourse  to  the 
Greeks,  the  supreme  idealists  in  art  and  life.  A 
study  of  the  Greek  forms  and  their  derivatives 
suggests  that  there  are  two  philosophies  of  life 
which  should  receive  consideration  in  a  discussion 
of  functional  art.  The  first  philosophy  frankly 
accepts  the  presence  of  stress  and  strain  in  life 
and  makes  of  them  the  means  to  a  beautiful  end. 
The  basic  concept  of  this  philosophy  is  "  to  be 
beautiful."  The  second  philosophy  discloses  a 
recognition  of  the  fact  of  stress  and  strain  by  its 
determined  effort  to  find  a  form  of  expression 
that  conceals  them.  The  main  content  of  this 
philosophy  lies  apparently  in  the  injunction  to 
"seem  beautiful."  A  third  form  —  a  pseudo- 
philosophy  —  denies  the  fact.  This  form,  dis- 
avowing fundamental  realities,  holds  no  place  for 


art.  He  who  manifests  a  Stoic  indifference  may 
feel;  but  he  who,  with  history  an  open  book  in 
his  hand  and  the  experience  of  life  spread  out 
before  him,  denies  the  reality  of  stress  and  strain, 
of  struggle  and  victory  and  the  joy  of  it  all,  of 
struggle  and  defeat  and  the  pain  of  it,  who  denies 
the  fruitful  instrumentality  of  struggle  and  strife 
in  character  unfolding,  however  intelligent  he 
may  be,  as  the  animal  is  intelligent,  is  not  en- 
dowed with  the  rarer  qualities  of  the  intellect  and 
of  the  emotions;  and,  therefore,  however  much 
he  may  crave  ornament  and  seek  to  clothe  his 
works  in  its  superficialities,  he  must  yet  remain 
insensible  to  the  deeper  appeal  of  art.  To  him  a 
discussion  of  functional  art  will  be  fraught  with 
little  meaning.  But  to  him  who  conceives  of  life 
as  a  struggle  —  a  battle  royal  —  and  to  him, 
especially,  whose  philosophy  holds  that  the 
struggle  is  not  to  be  ignored  but  that  it  is  to  be 
made  a  means  to  the  final  achievement  of  the 
ideal,  such  discussion,  sincerely  and  earnestly  pur- 
sued, will  be  charged  with  deep  significance. 

The  analysis  of  the  Greek  spirit  set  forth  in 
these  pages,  together  with  the  interpretation  of 
the  forms  which  characterize  and  distinguish  the 
Greek  orders,  has  not,  to  my  knowledge,  been 
heretofore  presented  by  another,  at  least  not  in 
an  extended  form;  but  the  underlying  thought 

[18] 


cannot  have  found  lodgment  in  one  mind  alone. 
The  idea  is  altogether  obvious;  while  the  subject 
is  too  alluring  to  have  escaped  a  full  exposition, 
at  some  time,  by  some  sympathetic  student  of 
Greek  art.  Rosengarten,  in  a  very  brief,  though 
suggestive,  discussion  of  the  aesthetic  phase  in 
Greek  architecture,  says:  "Special  mention  must 
here  be  made  of  the  way  in  which  the  Grecian 
column  and  its  capital  exemplify  the  conflict  of  sup- 
porting and  supported  bodies  .  .  .  this  is  shown 
in  the  Doric  capital  by  the  echinus  and  the  neck- 
ing. .  .  .  The  shaft  ...  by  its  entasis  expresses 
its  inherent  strength  which  is  merely  checked  by 
the  incumbrance  of  the  superstructure,  whilst  the 
flutings  add  materially  to  the  soaring  effect.  .  .  ." 
In  this  statement  is  a  germ  susceptible  of  a  devel- 
opment parallel,  at  least,  to  that  herein  at- 
tempted; an  idea  kindred  to  that  which  gives  this 
volume  its  reason  for  being. 

'To  go  directly  to  the  heart  of  the  matter,  I 
have  a  deep  conviction  that  the  Greek  capital  does 
more  than  "  exemplify  a  conflict " ;  that  it  is,  in- 
deed, the  true  artist's  symbol  —  and  to  me  the 
true  artist  is  he  who  truly  interprets  life  in  terms 
of  beauty  —  it  is  the  true  artist's  symbol  of  a 
reconciliation  to  the  struggle,  the  symbol  of  a 
frank  acknowledgment  by  aspiring  humanity  of 
the  existence  of  the  stress  and  strain,  the  accept- 

[19] 


ance  of  the  implied  challenge,  and  the  ultimate 
achievement  of  the  ideal,  not  in  spite  of  adverse 
conditions,  but  through  such  conditions;  through 
the  imposed  limitations  of  finitude;  through  even 
the  superimposed  limitation  of  absolute  finality. 
I  hold,  also,  that  the  same  rare  insight  into  the 
laws  of  beauty  which  the  Greek  demonstrated 
when  he  expressed  in  the  column  his  philosophy 
of  life  did  not  fail  him  when  he  came  to  objectify 
the  forces  which  play  in  that  other  constituent  and 
vastly  more  complex  part  of  his  architectural 
scheme,  the  lintel  or  entablature.  The  discerning 
student  of  Greek  civilization  has  always  seemed 
to  recognize  in  the  Parthenon  an  exposition  of 
the  ethical  philosophy  of  that  race.  And  well  he 
should;  for  Greek  art,  of  which  the  Parthenon  is 
a  lofty  exemplar,  is  a  clear  and  lucid  expression 
of  all  the  factors  of  Greek  idealism,  an  embodi- 
ment of  all  that  the  Greeks  held  highest  in  the 
domains  of  religion,  morals,  and  philosophy. 
The  Greek  temple  stood  as  an  ever-present  in- 
spiration to  a  life  of  moderation  and  of  self- 
restraint;  to  a  life  of  high  purpose  and  to  char- 
acter made  perfect  through  ordered  and  con- 
trolled resistance.  Through  it  sounded  the 
clarion  call  of  the  ideal  in  terms  of  the  good,  the 
true,  and  the  beautiful. 

[20] 


II 

THE  MEANING  OF 
ARCHITECTURE 


[22] 


THE  MEANING  OF 
ARCHITECTURE 

DEFINITIONS  at  best  are  incomplete. 
A  satisfactory  working  definition  of  art 
is  this :  Art  is  the  expression,  in  terms  of 
beauty,  of  a  reconciliation  to  the  struggle  of  life ; 
just  as  a  working  definition  of  religion  is  that  it  is 
an  expression,  in  terms  of  goodness,  of  an  accept- 
ance of  the  conditions  which  environ  existence. 
The  definition  of  art  is  frequently  condensed  into : 
Art  is  an  expression  of  life.  But  art  is  all  that  and 
more;  for  to  be  art  it  must  be  the  ordered  and 
unified  expression  of  an  ideal  which  life  holds. 
Architecture,  as  a  phase  of  art,  is  an  expression  in 
building  of  that  idealism  which  is  capable  of  trans- 
lation into  structural  terms;  that  idealism  which 
may  be  realized  in  an  interpretation  of  the  laws 
governing  structure ;  an  idealism  which  may  find  in 
terms  of  structural  force  a  deep  symbolism  of  its 
own  true  essence.  A  building  under  this  definition 
is  not  architecture  just  because  structural  laws  have 
been  obeyed,  but  because  underlying  and  directing 

[23] 


its  structural  expression  is  an  ideal.  A  building 
under  this  definition  is  not  architecture  merely 
because  it  symbolizes  some  great  vital  factor  of 
life,  such  as  a  religion  or  a  philosophy,  or  any 
great  intellectual  or  spiritual  concept,  but  because 
it  symbolizes  or  expresses  it  in  objectifying  the 
inhering  structural  forces.  Hence  the  temples, 
tombs,  and  pyramids  of  Egypt  —  impressive,  over* 
powering,  awe-inspiring  works  of  art  as  they  are 
—  cannot  be  said  to  be  pure  architecture ;  or  archi- 
tecture at  all  in  what  I  shall  denominate  the  Greek 
significance  of  the  term.  The  form  of  the  mass, 
the  forms  of  the  details  of  the  mass,,  the  inert 
mass  itself,  symbolize  a  great  ideal,  but  not  one 
which  could  find  expression  in  the  objectifying  of 
structural  forces.  The  more  completely  the  idea 
of  structure  could  be  eliminated  from  these  won- 
derful embodiments  of  the  essence  of  Egyptian 
philosophy  and  religious  belief  the  more  vividly 
would  the  real  significance  and  symbolism  of  the 
building,  or  dominant  mass,  stand  forth.  The 
mission  of  art  lies  in  the  pursuit  of  perfection, 
and  Greek  art  is  generally  recognized  as  having 
fulfilled  that  mission  and  as  having  achieved  that 
perfection  which  was  the  object  of  its  pursuit. 
That  same  high  goal  of  achievement  is  not  uni- 
versally conceded  to  have  been  attained  by  the 
art  of  Egypt.  And  yet  this  seeming  shortcoming 

[24] 


may  be  altogether  in  the  point  of  view.  It  is 
impossible  to  conceive  how  the  Egyptians  could 
have  better  expressed  their  ideal  than  they  did 
express  it  in  their  wonderful  art  —  just  as  im- 
possible as  to  conceive  how  the  Greeks  could  have 
expressed  their  ideal  in  more  perfect  form  than 
they  did  in  the  various  phases  of  their  equally 
wonderful  art.  The  difference  lies  in  the  ideals 
which  demanded  such  widely  varied  forms  of 
expression  rather  than  in  the  approach  to  perfec- 
tion in  the  forms  in  which  these  fundamentally 
different  ideals  found  complete  and  satisfactory 
embodiment.  In  the  Greek  temple  every  form 
functioned  structurally,  just  as  every  act  of  life, 
mental,  physical  or  spiritual,  was  supposed  to 
function  in  the  development  of  the  perfected 
Greek  character.  In  the  Egyptian,  no  form  was 
conceived  of  as  functioning  structurally  but  as 
symbolizing  a  vital  factor  in  the  life  and  destiny 
of  the  race.  Had  there  been  any  other  medium 
for  such  impressive  and  compelling  symbolism  as 
could  be  set  forth  in  building,  the  Egyptian  would 
have  found  and  employed  it,  and  history  would 
not  have  known  the  Egyptian  temples  and  pyra- 
mids, or  would  have  known  them  as  only  second- 
ary examples  of  Egyptian  art.  But  there  was 
none  other  —  there  is  none  other.  Sculpture  and 
painting,  potent  media  for  symbolism  as  they  are, 

[25] 


could  be  but  accessory.  The  Greek,  however, 
sought  structure  for  itself  that  he  might  express 
himself  through  an  interpretation  of  its  laws. 
The  difference  between  the  two  races  is  vividly 
marked.  The  Greek  in  all  his  art  sought  to 
express  a  character  radiant  in  clarity;  self-confi- 
dence, poise,  and  self-control;  with  nothing  want- 
ing, nothing  in  excess;  with  a  perfect  balance 
between  thought  and  act;  with  a  harmonious  inter- 
relation of  the  parts  and  a  sublime  unity  of  the 
whole.  The  Egyptian  in  his  art  sought  to  sym- 
bolize an  idea  which  permeated  all  his  philosophy 
and  religion  and  colored  his  lightest  act,  his 
deepest  thought,  his  highest  hope;  and  that  idea 
was  immortality.  The  Egyptian  found  in  build- 
ing the  most  appealing  and  appropriate  medium 
for  the  embodiment  of  this  idea,  and  to  its  fullest 
embodiment  he  labored  and  to  that  end  alone. 
He  did  not  conceive  of  structural  form  as  a  thing 
to  be  developed  for  the  lesson  it  might  be  made  to 
convey.  In  his  temples  he  did  employ  the  pillar 
and  the  simplest  and  most  direct  imaginable  de- 
vice for  spanning  a  void  —  the  lintel  —  for  this 
method  of  building  was  the  best  possible  to  serve 
his  purposes;  and  while  it  embodied  a  correct 
principle  of  construction,  that  element  made  slight 
appeal  to  the  Egyptian  symbolist.  The  fact  that 
the  pillar  and  the  lintel  could  be  shaped  to  mass 

[26] 


and  to  form  indestructible,  or  symbolic  of  inde- 
structibility, confirmed  him  in  their  employment. 
I  have  purposely  avoided  the  use  of  the  term 
"column"  in  discussing  Egyptian  structures,  for  the 
terms  "column"  and  "lintel"  in  conjunction  imply 
a  relationship  which  the  Egyptian  builder  did  not 
see  fit  to  recognize.  The  term  "column"  implies  a 
shaping  or  proportioning  of  the  vertical  member 
in  relation  to  the  superimposed  weight  carried  to 
it  through  the  lintel.  This  idea  it  was  given  to 
the  Greeks  to  conceive  and  to  develop,  and  in 
their  architecture  alone  is  this  subtle  interrelation 
carried  to  the  ultimate  of  refinement.  The  pier 
and  the  pillar  become  the  column;  the  lintel  be- 
comes the  entablature  with  all  its  complex  func- 
tioning. Contemporaneously  with  the  early 
Egyptian  there  existed  in  the  ^Egean  a  civilization 
which  developed  in  its  structures  a  slender  pillar 
seemingly  akin  in  its  nature  and  employment  to 
the  column  of  the  Greek.  There  are  evidences 
that  the  commerce  of  this  pre-Hellenic  race  of 
builders  extended  to  Egypt,  so  the  Egyptians  may 
well  have  known  of  the  lighter,  and  possibly  more 
functionally  related,  forms  of  this  construction. 
Even  had  they  this  knowledge  the  forms  were  not 
for  them.  The  purpose  of  Egypt  was  to  build 
for  eternity,  for  in  her  structures  she  was  sym- 
bolizing immortality.  Almost  every  vestige  of 

[27] 


[28] 


that  contemporary  civilization  has  been  swept 
away.  The  Egyptian  temples  and  pyramids  still 
stand. 

I  dwell  at  such  length  upon  the  spirit  which 
dictated  the  forms  appearing  in  the  Egyptian 
structures  that  the  difference  between  it  and  the 
ideal  which  inspired  the  forms  in  Greek  archi- 
tecture may  be  clearly  recognized  and  the  entire 
lack  of  relationship  between  these  two  wonderful 
manifestations  of  the  spirit  of  art  be  fully  appre- 
hended. The  simple  circumstance  that  both  sys- 
tems employed  vertical  supports  for  a  horizontal 
member,  that  is,  a  post  and  beam  type  of  con- 
struction, in  no  way  serves  to  relate  them ;  though 
what  distinctly  differentiates  them  is  the  manner 
in  which  the  elements  were  employed  —  the  spirit 
in  which  they  were  employed  as  well  as  the  forms 
to  which  they  were  fashioned.  The  Egyptian 
deliberately  chose  the  pillar  and  lintel  because 
that  form  of  construction  best  lent  itself  to  the 
presentation  of  that  powerful  symbolism  which 
stirred  his  richest  imaginings  and  ministered  to 
his  deepest  nature.  The  Greek  deliberately  chose 
the  same  structural  system  and  developed  within 
it  the  column  and  the  entablature,  for  in  these 
forms  he  could  best,  and  with  the  greatest  clarity 
of  definition,  enunciate  that  clean-cut  philosophy 
of  life  which  was  the  flower  of  his  moral  being 

[29] 


and  deep  aesthetic  instinct.  It  were  idle  to  search 
for  forms  which  the  Greek  may  be  supposed  to 
have  borrowed  from  the  Egyptian.  The  phil- 
osophies of  the  two  races  and  their  ideals  of  life 
were  altogether  distinct  and  individual  and  self- 
developed,  and  the  great  arts  which  so  perfectly 
and  absolutely  embodied  these  separate  racial 
expressions  were  equally  distinct  and  individual 
and  self-developed. 

In  Egypt  the  pyramid  was  the  basic  form  of 
the  home  of  the  dead,  or,  as  we  would  say,  the 
tomb  (Fig.  i-A).  To  appreciate  the  full  signi- 
ficance of  its  appeal  one  must  understand  the 
Egyptian's  attitude  toward  life,  his  intense  long- 
ing for  immortality,  and  his  deep  dread  of  death. 
The  trivial  theory,  still  extant,  that  the  pyramid 
is  a  glorified  development  of  the  early  mud  tomb 
which  had  been  battered  or  molded  into  pyram- 
idal semblance  by  the  continued  action  of  the 
elements,  is  one  which  can  be  entertained  only  by 
him  who  has  small  conception  of  the  Egyptian 
character,  no  sensitiveness  to  line,  and  no  knowl- 
edge of  the  psychology  of  mass  and  form.  What- 
ever may,  or  may  not,  have  been  the  original 
shape  of  these  mounds  of  mud  or  brick,  it  is  cer- 
tain that  the  pyramid  is  preeminently  the  most 
satisfying  geometrical  symbol  of  immutability  the 
human  mind  can  conceive;  and  that  is  quite  suffi- 

[30] 


cient  to  account  for  its  adoption  by  the  immor- 
tality-craving Egyptian  for  his  tomb.  Not  only 
did  the  form  symbolize  eternity,  but  the  bulk 
seemed  to  the  Egyptian  to  be  a  positive  protection 
against  the  entrance  of  death  or  decay  into  that 
inner  chamber  wherein  the  sleeping  image  rested 
while  the  real  man,  the  spirit,  the  absolute  double 
in  form,  in  feature,  and  in  bulk,  watched,  ever 
living  above  it,  awaiting  the  divine  call  to  return 
to,  revivify,  and  forever  inhabit,  the  clay.  In- 
ward sloping  lines  and  battered  surfaces  forming 
truncated  pyramids  characterized  the  mastabas 
and  marked  the  piers,  and  pylons  of  the  temple 
gates,  as,  also,  the  temple  walls.  Other  races 
used  the  pyramidal  motive,  for  reasons  which 
will  develop  later,  but  none  other  used  the  pyra- 
mid as  it  was  employed  in  Egypt  (Fig.  i-B). 

The  Greek  temple  was  an  abstract  mental  con- 
cept, the  lines  of  which  were  not  derived  from 
natural  forms.  The  Egyptian  temple  was  a  sym- 
bol of  an  unending  and  indestructible  universe; 
the  massive  pillars  were  shaped  into  arboreal 
forms,  into  bundles  of  reeds,  into  groups  of  beau- 
tifully conventionalized  palm  trees,  into  rare  ar- 
rangements of  lotus  leaf  and  flower;  shaped  into 
the  symbolic  representation  of  terrestrial  life  in- 
cluding man  and  beast.  Into  the  pavement  were 
let  water  basins  to  represent  the  lakes  and  seas, 


and  these  were  decorated,  as  were  the  tiles  and 
mosaics  of  the  pave  itself,  with  molded  or  with 
outline  representations  of  the  forms  of  aquatic 
life.  The  ceiling  of  the  temple  was  formed  of 
massive  slabs  of  stone  resting  upon  more  massive 
lintels  of  the  same  substance.  The  ceiling  was 
studded  with  stars  of  gold  and  silver,  which  shone 
and  twinkled  in  the  flickering  light  of  the  torches. 
On  the  lintels,  in  relief  and  color  or,  again,  in- 
cised, were  representations  of  the  birds  of  the 
air  and  other  forms  of  aerial  life,  and  these  fig- 
ures also  decorated  the  ceiling  slabs;  thus,  the 
temple  was  an  epitome  of  the  physical  universe  in 
massive  form  and  indestructible  material.  But 
that  which  challenges  the  attention  at  this  stage 
is  the  treatment  of  the  structure  at  the  point  of 
contact  between  pillar  and  lintel;  not  a  line  or 
form  is  there  to  "  exemplify  the  conflict  of  sup- 
porting and  supported  bodies,"  but  instead  there 
is  interposed,  in  the  most  highly  developed  types, 
a  small  pillow  block,  not  intended  to  be  in  evi- 
dence from  the  pavement,  which  serves  effectually 
to  separate  the  ceiling  beams  from  the  posts,  thus 
heightening  the  desired  illusion  that  the  ceiling, 
which  typifies  the  everlasting  firmament,  is  self- 
supported  and  does  not  rest  upon  the  pillars 
which  are  wrought  to  simulate  in  enduring  mass 
arboreal,  vegetable,  or  floral  forms  (Fig.  i-C). 

[32] 


Although  I  have  hesitated  to  speak  of  the  Egyp- 
tian temples  as  architecture  within  the  definition 
of  architecture  I  have  chosen  to  employ,  yet  in 
effect  they  are  wonderfully  architectural.  This 
primarily  is  because,  as  indicated,  their  basic 
structural  principle  is  sound.  Moreover  in  their 
plan,  arrangement,  and  composition  the  cardinal 
laws  of  unity  and  purpose  have  met  fulfillment; 
and  because  of  this,  and  for  the  further  reason 
that  in  them  the  note  of  essential  harmony  rings 
clear,  these  great  manifestations  of  Egyptian  art 
exert  a  powerful  imaginative  appeal  and  are  per- 
vaded with  that  mystery  which  inheres  in  any 
work,  however  simple,  however  complex,  how- 
ever involved,  which  is  conceived  and  carried  out 
in  the  vital  spirit  of  art.  Whether  or  not  the 
Egyptian  understood  and  consciously  obeyed  the 
canons  of  aesthetics  in  the  practice  of  his  art  is  a 
much  discussed  question  the  negative  of  which  has 
been  maintained  with  some  show  of  reason.  I 
am  hardly  prepared  to  accept  this  negative  judg- 
ment, though  I  shall  not  debate  the  matter  now, 
for  it  lies  outside  the  province  of  this  essay.  But 
whatever  conflicting  ideas  may  obtain  concerning 
the  intellectual  element  in  Egyptian  art,  no  divi- 
sion of  opinion  is  possible  in  the  case  of  the  Greek, 
for  he  knew  every  process  of  his  art  and  why  he 
used  it,  and  could  give  a  clear  account  of  himself 

[33] 


at  every  stage.  The  refinements  of  Greek  art 
were  never  achieved  except  under  the  keenest  of 
intellectual  supervision. 

And  so  through  a  comparison  of  these  two 
clear-cut  forms  of  expression,  we  gain  a  reason- 
able conception  of  what  inheres  in  architecture. 
To  us  of  the  West  the  deeper  meaning  lies  in  the 
Greek  expression,  for  consciously  or  sub-con- 
sciously Greek  idealism  throughout  the  ages  has 
influenced  our  philosophic  attitude  toward  life. 
Orientalism  makes  but  slight  impress  upon  our 
minds;  and  except  as  its  essence  has  been  distilled 
through  the  alembic  of  the  Greek  or  has  filtered 
into  our  spirit  through  the  mystic  phases  of 
medievalism,  which  touched  the  hem  of  the 
Eastern  garment  and  gained  some  virtue  through 
the  contact,  Oriental  thought  and  expression  are 
matters  of  secondary  interest  to  us.  The  proc- 
esses of  the  Oriental  mind  are  too  involved  for 
us  to  follow  with  profit  in  this  adventure.  It  is 
to  the  Greek  that  we  must  turn.  A  study  of  the 
Greek  mind  and  its  manner  and  method  of  self- 
expression  may  reveal  to  us  that  of  ourselves  of 
which  we  ourselves  are,  perhaps,  not  wholly 
conscious,  and  inspire  us  to  a  higher  spiritual 
activity  in  the  realm  of  art  and  of  life. 


[34] 


Ill 

THE  GREEK   EXPRESSION 

THE  UNDERLYING  CONCEPTION.     THE   DORIC 


[36] 


THE   GREEK   EXPRESSION 

THE  UNDERLYING  CONCEPTION.    THE   DORIC 

ALTHOUGH  the  Egyptian  in  his  temple 
building  obeyed  the  aesthetic  laws  of  unity 
and  purpose,  he  did  not  choose  to  operate 
under  the  law  of  measure.  It  may  be  doubted  if 
he  had  knowledge  of  the  law.  There  was  little  in 
his  nature  to  demand  a  formulation  of  it,  for  in 
everything  he  went  to  excess,  even  in  his  philos- 
ophy of  immortality  and  in  his  efforts  to  contra- 
vene the  power  of  death.  From  an  alien  stand- 
point, in  delineating  or,  fabricating  his  gods,  he  left 
the  realm  of  fancy  and  invaded  the  domain  of  fan- 
tasy ;  and  that  means  excess.  In  the  architecture  of 
the  pre-Hellenic  civilization  of  the  ^Egean,  espe- 
cially in  the  Cretan  development,  there  were  forms 
functioning  structurally  which  appear  to  have  met 
certain  aesthetic  demands  as  well,  though  propor- 
tion, as  conceived  by  the  Greeks,  seemingly  did 
not  enter  into  the  scheme;  nor  was  proportion 
fundamental  in  the  art  of  the  East  or  in  any  art 
which  could  have  influenced  Greek  idealism.  It 

[37] 


was  the  Greek  who  first  set  up  the  standard  of 
measure  in  life  and  conduct  and  applied  the  prin- 
ciple in  the  development  of  his  art.  It  were  bet- 
ter to  say  that  the  Greek  lived  the  principle  in  his 
art,  for  art  and  life  with  him  were  one  and  the 
same ;  he  thought  and  built  and  wrought  in  terms 
of  the  ideal.  When  an  obstacle  was  to  be  over- 
come, the  Greek  met  it  with  just  the  force  neces- 
sary and  with  no  wasted  effort;  because  of  the 
fineness  of  his  feeling  for  expression  that  was  the 
impression  he  conveyed.  When  he  encountered 
that  which  was  pregnant  with  the  possibilities  of 
ugliness,  he  opposed  a  resistance  which  seemed 
inevitably  to  express  itself  in  a  line  of  beauty,  a 
line  which  imparted  a  feeling  of  serenity  and 
poise  and  emotional  restraint  that  was  an  inspira- 
tion to  the  beholder.  He  did  not  dissipate  his 
effort  by  distributing  it  over  the  entire  field,  but 
applied  it  at  the  point  where  it  would  be  most 
effective  in  bringing  functional  activities  into 
proper  relationship.  In  his  obedience  to  the  law 
of  measure  he  proportioned  not  only  thought  to 
thought  and  act  to  act,  but  he  balanced  thought 
and  act,  ideal  and  expression.  It  was  here  that 
the  ethics  and  the  aesthetics  of  the  Greek  merged 
and  became  as  one.  To  effect  this  result  the 
Greek  exercised  his  power  of  choice,  exercised  his 
free  will,  and  discarded  much  that  would  have 

[38] 


pleased  another  and  which  he  might  have  allowed 
himself  to  enjoy  had  he  been  less  austere  with 
himself;  but  the  end  justified  the  sacrifice  if  such 
it  really  were.  He  did  not  attain  to  this  exalted 
and  balanced  state  of  mind  or  develop  this  clarity 
and  purity  of  expression  without  a  struggle,  with- 
out many  an  experiment  the  results  of  which  did 
not  satisfy  him ;  but  he  became  stronger  with  each 
attempt.  He  was  hospitable  to  outside  influences 
but  did  not  let  them  control  him.  He  remained  in 
command.  It  may  be  as  well  to  state  here,  as 
touching  the  Greek,  a  general  principle,  one 
fundamental  to  the  development  of  any  great  or 
national  art,  that  the  expression  of  an  ideal  is 
possible  because  and  when,  and  only  when,  that 
ideal  dominates  the  race.  The  Greek  idealist 
made  his  appeal  to  a  sympathetic  and  compre- 
hending constituency.  He  was  not  forced  to 
create  an  ideal,  and  then  to  bring  the  race  up  to 
an  appreciation  of  it.  The  race  in  its  own  ideal- 
ism urged  him  ever  onward  and  upward.  There 
is  indeed  a  reciprocal  action,  for  the  individual 
grows  in  power  of  thought  and  expression  by 
achievement  and  the  race  advances  toward  per- 
fection through  the  constant  contemplation  of  a 
truthful  interpretation  of  its  higher  self;  but  it  is 
for  life  to  furnish  the  motive  and  for  art  to 
express. 

[39] 


The  mental  and  spiritual  state  of  the  beauty- 
loving  Greek  when  he  finds  himself  face  to  face 
with  the  inevitable  he  has  exemplified  in  the  high- 
est degree  in  his  architecture.  He  not  only  is 
reconciled  to  the  struggle,  but  he  welcomes  it  for 
the  opportunity  it  affords  him  for  self-expression. 
At  the  point  where  the  rising  forces  in  the  column 
meet  the  resistance  of  the  entablature,  at  this 
point  of  transition  and  of  conflict,  at  this  crucial 
point  in  the  battle  where  the  aspiring  spirit  will 
prevail  in  beauty  or  brute  force  will  overpower, 
the  Greek  makes  the  supreme  application  of  his 
theory  of  life  and  registers  his  moral  conviction 
as  to  what  the  outcome  should  be  and  his  aesthetic 
judgment  of  how  best  it  should  be  expressed. 
Having  gained  a  victory  at  this  point  he  has  pre- 
pared himself  for  the  further  and  final  effort 
through  which  he  hopes  to  achieve  that  perfect 
relation  of  part  to  part  and  that  perfect  unity  of 
the  whole  which  are  the  end  and  aim,  the  crown 
and  finish,  of  his  ever-ascending  effort.  As  to 
whether  achievement  entitled  one  to  or  fitted  one 
for  immortality  the  Greek  left  to  the  Egyptian; 
he  himself  discussed  academically  the  problem  of 
conduct  as  affecting  a  future  state;  but  such  dis- 
cussion did  not  affect  his  philosophy  of  life  which 
embraced  the  propositions  that  the  achievement 
of  the  ideal  justified  itself  and  that  nothing  short 

[40] 


of  unity  and  completion  of  purpose  was  to  be 
considered  worthy  in  the  expression  of  that  ideal. 
The  struggle  of  man  upward,  always  upward 
until  perfection  is  achieved,  receives  full  and  rich 
expression  in  the  architecture  of  the  Greek.  The 
forms  interpret  not  only  rising  force  developing 
character  under  a  down  pressing  material  mass, 
as  exemplified  in  the  columns,  but  in  the  lines  of 
the  entablature  there  appears  an  interpretation 
of  that  more  subtle,  more  involved,  attitude  which 
is  encountered  when  the  ardent  aspiring  spirit 
approaches  what  I  have  called  the  superimposed 
limitation  of  finality;  when  it  receives  the  com- 
mand "  thus  far  shalt  thou  go  and  no  farther  " 
and  realizes  that  in  meeting  this  fixed,  impene- 
trable, impassable  spiritual  barrier  it  will  demon- 
strate the  truth  or  falsity  of  its  philosophy,  the 
reality  or  pretense  of  that  beauty  it  developed  in 
the  earlier  stages  of  its  ascent.  The  rare  pathos 
of  the  situation,  the  calm  though  eager  acceptance 
manifested  in  the  Greek  answer  stir  the  imagina- 
tive mind  to  its  depths.  Fate,  level,  calm,  inexor- 
able is  symbolized  in  the  entablature ;  fate  against 
which  the  aspiring  spirit  presses  with  the  resultant 
return  upon  self  in  perfection  of  character;  fate, 
upward  and  through  the  calm,  level  restraint  of 
which  the  perfected  character  sends  the  impulse 
of  its  unconquered  aspiration. 

[41] 


Fig  2 


ABACUS 


B 


SEEMINGLY  PERJECT  FUNCTIONING 
WITH  ABACUS  OM1TTID 


C 


DORJC 

[42] 


SECTION  SHOVING 

THE  AESTHETIC  NECESSITY 

FOKTHEABACU5 

1 


Realizing,  then,  something  of  its  spiritual  con- 
tent, let  us  look  at  the  architecture  in  detail,  taking 
first  the  Doric  as  representing  the  simplest  as  well 
as  the  oldest  and  most  virile  expression.  The 
column  springs  directly  from  the  stylobate  with- 
out an  intervening  base.  It  is  as  though  the  vital 
forces  of  the  earth  were  gathering  and  rising  to 
the  fray.  The  rising  force  expresses  its  vital- 
ity in  the  flutings  or  channelings  which  extend 
throughout  the  entire  height  of  the  shaft.  Com- 
pared with  a  fluted  shaft  a  plain  one  is  cold  and 
dead;  it  is  life  which  is  rising  in  these  Doric 
columns.  The  shaft  does  not  rise  in  a  straight 
line  but  develops  a  curve  as  the  diameter  of  the 
column  begins  to  decrease  toward  the  necking  of 
the  capital.  This  curve,  called  the  entasis,  is 
very  subtle,  being  parabolic  or  hyperbolic,  and 
imparts  the  feeling  that  the  movement  within  the 
shaft  is  gathering  in  force,  in  vitality  and  in  con- 
centration, until,  meeting  the  restraint  imposed 
by  the  entablature,  it  expands  into  the  beautiful, 
firm,  resilient  supporting  form  of  the  echinus. 
The  impression  conveyed  is*!trong  that  the  move- 
ment within  the  column  was  merely  an  aspiring 
desire  until  the  weight  of  the  entablature  was 
superimposed,  and  then  it  became  a  living  force 
meeting  the  obstacle  with  a  characteristically 
beautiful  line  (Fig.  2-A).  The  echinus  does  not 

[43] 


meet  the  lower  member  of  the  entablature  directly, 
but  there  is  interposed  a  heavy  rectangular  block 
called  the  abacus.  This  abacus  signifies  more 
than  is  apparent  at  first  sight.  Its  presence  per- 
mits the  structure  to  comply  with  that  aesthetic 
law  mentioned  as  having  been  discovered  by  the 
Greeks,  the  law  of  measure,  obedience  to  which 
insures  perfect  relationship,  correct  proportions; 
just  enough  of  this  to  satisfy  that;  poise,  self- 
restraint.  As  I  have  already  said,  a  certain  rela- 
tionship between  them  transforms  the  post  and 
lintel  into  the  column  and  entablature  and  the 
abacus  permits  the  establishment  of  this  relation 
in  its  Doric  perfection.  As  seen  directly  in  front 
view  there  appears  to  be  no  reason  for  the  abacus, 
the  echinus  seeming  to  function  perfectly  against 
the  soffit  of  the  epistyle  or  lower  member  of  the 
entablature  (Fig.  2-B).  But  in  perspective  or  in 
sectional  view  the  aspect  is  changed  (Fig.  2-C). 
A  soffit  or  under  surface  wide  enough  to  cover  the 
entire  area  of  the  echinus  in  plan  would  imply  a 
superincumbent  mass  out  of  all  proportion  to  the 
supporting  columns.  To  narrow  the  soffit  to  less 
than  the  upper  diameter  of  the  echinus  and  omit 
the  abacus  would  be  to  have  a  beautiful  functional 
line  of  resistance  resisting  nothing;  and  with  that 
the  integrity  of  the  style  would  disappear  and 
there  would  be  no  Doric.  Doric  architecture  did 

[44] 


not  exist  until  an  early  Greek  with  aesthetic  imag- 
ination, and  an  ideal  for  it  to  feed  upon,  first 
shaped  an  echinus  and  so  environed  it  that  it 
should  function  perfectly  throughout  its  entire 
periphery.  So,  while  the  abacus  might  be  con- 
ceived of  as  a  pillow  block,  furnishing  a  firm  seat 
for  the  entablature,  yet  the  exigencies  of  the  case 
do  not  warrant  that  conception,  for  the  abacus 
hardly  functions  structurally  at  all.  In  reality 
its  function  is  purely  aesthetic,  the  abacus  being 
introduced  to  permit  of  a  correct  proportioning 
of  the  two  main  features  of  the  style.  Many 
experiments  with  the  general  proportions,  and 
consequently  with  the  line  of  the  echinus  and  the 
thickness  of  the  abacus,  were  made  before  the 
perfection  of  the  Parthenon  was  attained;  how- 
ever, from  the  very  first  the  truth  and  logic  of 
the  style  were  compelling.  The  abacus  leads  us 
naturally  to  the  entablature,  which  will  now  claim 
our  attention.  The  effect  produced  by  the  Greek 
temple  is  of  such  absolute  simplicity  and  such 
directness  of  purpose  that  one  finds  it  not  easy  to 
comprehend  what  complexity  of  functioning  is 
really  involved.  To  anticipate,  for  sake  of  clar- 
ity, let  me  say  that  in  an  arcuated  system  of  con- 
struction but  one  force  is  in  operation,  that  is, 
compression.  Throughout  the  seemingly  and,  in- 
deed, really  complex  system  of  mediaeval  construc- 

[45] 


"CORNICE 


FRJEZE 


EPISTYLE 


A 


ELEVATION  OPTHE  ENTABLATURE 


EFFECT  OF  THE  FORCES 
IN  A  STRESSED    BEAM 

COMPRESSION   ^.^r-r" 


- — 

NEUTRAL-'      TENSION-'' 


C 


METOPE 


RHYTHMIC 
VERTICAL  MOVEMENT 
IN   COLUMN  AND 
ENTABLATURE          i 

3  DORIC 

[46] 


\    luuuuu  J 


__ 
TK1GLYPHS 


D 


tion  with  slender  piers,  ribbed  vaults,  and  flying 
buttresses,  compression  alone  is  operating  and  its 
aesthetic  expression  is  never  complicated  by  an 
ascending  movement  running  transversely  or  at 
an  angle  to  it.  The  movements,  structural  and 
spiritual,  coincide  in  each  and  every  member 
throughout  the  whole  composition.  And  yet  the 
system  is  complex  and  the  expression  is  in  a  man- 
ner involved.  In  the  Greek  entablature  there  are 
two  forces,  compression  and  tension,  operating 
structurally  in  the  horizontal  plane  and  both  are 
to  be  reckoned  with  aesthetically;  while  crossing 
these  vertically  is  to  be  expressed  that  force  which, 
rising  through  the  column  and  achieving  beauty 
in  the  capital,  is  finally  to  reach  in  the  fullness  of 
perfected  character  the  external  limitation  im- 
posed upon  it.  A  trabeated  system  in  the  hands 
of  a  materialist  is  complicated  and  bewildering 
in  the  extreme  (note  any  series  of  bridge  trusses 
resting  on  piers  or  internally  braced  supports), 
but  under  the  touch  of  an  idealist  like  the  Greek 
it  lends  itself  to  the  expression  of  the  highest  sim- 
plicity and  unity  (Fig.  3 -A).  The  aesthetic  ex- 
pression of  the  entablature  in  all  the  delicacy  and 
refinement  of  its  functioning  will  not  fully  appear 
to  us  until  we  view  the  Ionic  forms;  but  we  al- 
ready have  a  sufficient  groundwork  for  the  study 
and  analysis  of  the  Doric  entablature.  The  Greek 

[47] 


entablature  is  the  apotheosis  of  the  beam,  and  in 
order  in  any  degree  to  appreciate  the  character  of 
the  entablature  one  must  understand  the  nature  of 
the  beam.  Take  a  piece,  preferably  rectangular 
in  section,  of  any  material  which  will  not  fall 
apart  of  its  own  weight  and  place  it  on  supports 
at  the  ends.  Press  down  upon  it  in  the  middle 
and  you  will  observe  that  the  beam,  for  such  it  is, 
bends,  tending  to  lengthen  along  the  lower  sur- 
face and  to  shorten  along  the  upper  (Fig.  3~B). 
This  distortion  is  caused  by  a  stretching  force 
tending  to  tear  the  beam  apart  in  its  lower  half, 
and  a  crushing  force  which  tends  to  shorten  the 
beam  in  its  upper  half.  Between  these  lies  a  neu- 
tral axis  along  which  neither  force  is  operative, 
where  they  fade  the  one  into  the  other.  These 
forces  are  called  respectively  tension  and  com- 
pression. When  a  beam  fails  by  compression  the 
matter  crumples  or  buckles,  forming  areas  of 
broken  light  and  shade  along  the  upper  edge  per- 
haps as  far  down  as  the  neutral  axis.  When  it 
fails  by  tension  fine  lines  indicative  of  tearing  or 
stretching  appear  on  the  surface.1  The  sensitive 
mind  of  the  Greek  sought  an  aesthetic  expression 

1  In  the  beam  there  is  always  developed  a  shearing  force 
which  in  a  deep  stone  lintel  may  logically  be  ignored  or,  if 
recognized,  its  movements  may  be  conceived  as  coinciding 
with  the  ascending  rhythm  which  runs  through  the  entab- 
lature. 

[48] 


of  this  phenomenon.  How  far  the  presentation 
was  carried,  depended  upon  the  intrinsic  character 
of  the  ultimate  expression.  Thus,  in  the  Doric,  in 
which  the  intrinsic  characteristic  was  bold,  simple 
masculinity,  the  subdivision  within  the  members 
was  minimized  and  the  expression  not  carried  as 
far  as  in  the  Ionic,  the  intrinsic  characteristic  of 
which  was  graceful  feminine  refinement. 

Now,  in  the  entablature  we  find  fields  corre- 
sponding to  these  tensile,  neutral,  and  compressive 
areas  in  the  beam,  and  so  treated  as  to  bring  out 
the  inherent  characteristic  of  each.  These  fields, 
known  as  the  members  of  the  entablature,  are 
defined  as  the  epistyle  (the  lower  member,  resting 
on  the  columns  and  in  tension)  ;  the  frieze  (the 
middle  member  and  in  repose  in  so  far  as  tension 
and  compression  are  involved)  ;  the  cornice  (the 
portion  above  the  frieze  and  in  compression) 
(Fig.  3~A) .  In  all  of  these  members  in  the  Doric 
entablature  is  visible  the  expression  of  that  aspir- 
ing spirit  which  ascends  to  respond  in  beauty  to 
the  final  call  (Fig.  3~C).  In  the  epistyle  the 
presence  of  this  spirit  is  manifested  in  the  guttae 
and  the  fillet;  in  the  frieze  it  is  seen  in  the  tri- 
glyphs;  in  the  cornice  the  crown  mold  bears  its 
charm.  It  is  quite  possible  to  conceive  that  in  the 
early  days  of  the  Doric,  before  the  law  of  meas- 
ure had  found  its  fullest  interpretation,  the  epi- 

[49] 


style  was  regarded  as  the  beam  while  the  frieze 
was  given  up  entirely  to  the  function  of  vertical 
support.  But  that  did  not  seem  long  to  satisfy 
the  broadening  conception  of  functional  relations 
and  I,  for  one,  do  not  doubt  that  at  a  very  early 
period  the  entablature  as  a  whole  came  to  be  re- 
garded as  the  beam.  I  think  that  the  analysis  of 
the  Ionic  forms,  a  little  later,  will  substantiate  this 
view.  The  Doric  builders  did  not  draw  the  fine- 
spun lines  of  tension  upon  the  surface  of  the  epi- 
style, but  the  nature  of  the  member  becomes  ap- 
parent when  its  plain  surface  is  viewed  in  relation 
to  the  field  of  broken  light  and  shade  in  the  frieze 
which  leads  up  to  the  cornice,  and,  especially,  in 
the  cornice  itself.  The  frieze  is  of  extreme  in- 
terest. It  is  comprised  of  alternating  members 
known  as  the  metopes  and  the  triglyphs.  The 
metopes  originally,  according  to  all  available 
data,  were  open  spaces  functioning  for  light  and 
air  and  given  over  later  to  the  storage  of  the 
temple  vessels.  Still  later  they  were  closed  up 
with  stone  slabs  upon  which  were  carved  repre- 
sentations of  the  vessels  which  formerly  had 
occupied  the  spaces;  and  then  beautiful  sculptured 
reliefs  came  to  adorn  the  metopes.  These  spaces 
are  what  I  shall  denominate  zones  of  repose  — 
areas  in  which  no  structural  forces  are  operating. 
They  alternated,  as  stated,  with  the  triglyphs, 

[50] 


which  were  blocks  of  stone  introduced  to  support 
the  cornice  and  roof.  The  theory  that  the  tri- 
glyphs  are  survivals  in  stone  of  ornamented  ends 
of  wooden  beams  is  pretty  thoroughly  exploded, 
as,  too,  is  the  general  theory  that  columns,  guttae, 
mutules,  and  the  whole  structural  fabric  are 
merely  translations  into  stone  from  wooden 
forms.  It  is  a  trivial  and  baseless  theory  which  I 
shall  touch  upon  later;  for  the  time  it  is  only 
necessary  to  say  that  if  ever  there  was  an  archi- 
tecture in  which  the  feeling  and  forms  are  essen- 
tially those  of  stone  that  architecture  is  the  Doric. 
The  triglyphs,  then,  function  structurally  as  sup- 
porting members,  but  aesthetically  they  serve 
three  very  necessary  uses,  and  the  forms  to  which 
they  were  shaped  (Fig.  3-D),  though  not  always 
identical  in  different  structures,  permitted  them  to 
serve,  equally,  fully  and  simultaneously  these 
widely  differing  purposes.  First,  they  serve  to 
carry  the  force  upward  through  the  entablature 
to  a  perfect  conclusion.  In  this  the  triglyphs 
are  aided  by  the  guttae,  which  in  the  higher  types 
are  not  pendant  but  spring  from  the  surface  of 
the  epistyle  and  soften  the  transition.  Second, 
the  triglyphs  introduce  needed  variety,  alternating 
as  night  and  day,  with  a  zone  of  repose  contrast- 
ing with  a  field  of  activity;  and  they  serve,  too,  as 
a  foil  to  the  long,  horizontal  lines  of  the  entabla- 


ture.  Third,  they  break  up  the  shadow  of  the 
cornice  and  thus  assist  that  member  to  introduce  a 
vigorous  play  of  light  and  shade  into  the  upper 
portion  of  the  entablature,  expressing  the  com- 
pressive  forces  struggling  to  maintain  the  in- 
tegrity of  the  beam,  and  filling  a  desire  in  the 
aesthetic  mind  endowed  with  a  fine  appreciation 
of  structural  symbolism.  The  lines  and  forms 
which  perform  so  completely  these  several  func- 
tions must  be  highly  characteristic.  Had  the 
triglyphs  been  grouped  columns  of  reduced  scale, 
proportion  and  unity  had  been  wanting;  had  they 
been  merely  fluted  blocks,  force  and  character  had 
been  lacking.  As  it  is,  their  sharp,  deeply  incised 
lines  conserve  all  this  and  give  powerful  aid  to 
the  expression  of  the  compressive  force  in  action 
and  all  the  while  conserving  the  inspiring  ascend- 
ing movement  and  doing  no  violence  to  the  neu- 
tral zone.  The  unity,  the  simplicity,  the  charm, 
hold  us  in  admiration  and  cause  us  to  marvel  at 
the  largeness  of  the  spirit  which  dictated  the 
form. 


[52] 


IV 

THE  GREEK  EXPRESSION 

THE  IONIC  AND  THE  DECADENCE 


[54] 


THE  GREEK  EXPRESSION 

THE  IONIC  AND  THE  DECADENCE 

IN  contemplating  a  typical  Ionic  structure  one 
is  not  impressed  with  that  sense  of  power 
which  fills  him  in  the  presence  of  a  typical 
example  of  the  Doric;  but  another  impression, 
just  as  complete  and  satisfying,  stamps  itself  upon 
the  mind.  The  vigorous  masculine  assertion  of 
the  Doric  gives  place  to  the  charming  and  gra- 
cious feminine  appeal.  Were  the  Greeks  them- 
selves conscious  of  the  presence  of  these  ideals; 
conscious  of  the  masculinity  inhering  in  the  Doric 
and  of  the  essential  femininity  of  the  Ionic  ?  The 
Greeks  themselves  have  answered  the  question 
fearing,  perhaps,  that  the  ages  would  produce 
beings  insensate  enough  to  ask  it.  The  Greeks 
knew  that  life  was  incomplete  socially,  ethically, 
aesthetically,  without  the  presence  for  coopera- 
tion and  for  contrast,  of  these  two  primal  factors; 
and  to  their  minds  religion  and  art,  elemental 
modes  of  expression,  to  satisfy  must  of  necessity 
employ  each  and  both  distinctly  differentiated  as 

[55] 


c' 


D 


C 


Fig  4 


IONIC 

[56] 


in  the  higher  types  produced  in  nature ;  in  witness 
of  this,  contemplate  the  gods  and  goddesses  of  the 
Greek  pantheon,  the  manly  men  and  womanly 
women  of  pedimenit,  frieze,  and  metope.  In 
their  architectural  abstractions  such  care  was  used 
to  keep  the  types  pure  and  the  definition  clear  that 
wherever  a  male  figure  suggests  support  the  back- 
ground will  be  found  to  be  Doric,  and  wherever 
the  female  figure  symbolizes  structural  force  the 
setting  will  be  found  to  be  Ionic.  Never  does  the 
male  figure  characterize  structure,  symbolically, 
functionally,  or  interpretatively  in  the  Ionic,  nor 
does  the  female  figure  appear  in  like  manner  in 
the  Doric.  The  examples  of  figures  objectifying 
support  which  will  come  most  readily  to  mind  are 
the  Atlantes  —  male  figures  characterizing  sup- 
port —  in  the  temple  of  Zeus  at  Agrigentum,  and 
the  Caryatids  —  female  figures  really  supporting 
—  in  the  Porch  of  the  Maidens  of  the  Erech- 
theion  at  Athens.  A  recognized  distinction  be- 
tween the  two  orders  is  that  the  Doric  employed 
sculpture  as  ornament  while  the  Ionic  incorpo- 
rated sculpture  into  the  structure.  There  can  be 
no  better  exemplification  of  this  than  is  given  in 
the  instances  cited.  As  to  which  of  these  particu- 
lar examples  or  types  embodies  the  purer  aesthetic 
expression,  I  shall  discuss  later;  but  now,  having 
noted  that  which  characterizes  and  differentiates 

[57] 


these  two  orders,  we  will  proceed  to  study  the 
Ionic  (Fig.  4~A).  Let  us  begin  with  the  column 
noting  first  its  contact  with  the  earth.  What  will 
strike  us  most  forcibly  is  that  the  impression  of 
upward  thrust  gained  from  the  Doric  is  wanting, 
and,  in  its  stead,  we  feel  a  gracefully  soaring  ten- 
dency which  starts  from  the  moldings  at  foot  of 
the  column.  The  most  attractive  combination  is 
known  as  the  Attic  base.  This  base  (Fig.  4-E) 
is  paralleled  in  music  by  certain  introductory  pas- 
sages such  as  the  "  call  to  attention  "  which  opens 
the  Mendelssohn  Wedding  March,  or  by  preludes 
which,  while  they  may  or  may  not  call  to  atten- 
tion, suggest  the  mood  and  epitomize  the  theme 
which  is  to  be  developed  later.  We  may  gain, 
perhaps,  a  more  complete  idea  of  this  essential 
characteristic  of  the  Ionic  by  a  comparison  and 
contrast.  In  the  Doric  we  feel  the  firm  tread  of 
a  powerful  man  upon  the  pavement.  In  the  Ionic 
the  sentiment  is  that  exhaled  by  a  charmingly 
robed,  radiant  woman  with  a  dainty,  arched  foot, 
and,  to  cite  a  modern  detail,  a  gracefully  curved 
heel.  The  comparison  is  not  altogether  inept. 
From  the  graceful  lines  of  this  base,  where  the 
force  seems  to  originate,  it  rises  through  the  slen- 
der shaft  with  poise  and  vitality,  as  evidenced  by 
the  fine  entasis  and  rich  flutings,  to  meet  with  dig- 
nity and  with  gracious  acceptance  the  service  it  is 

[58] 


to  perform  in  the  cause  of  unified  and  idealized 
architectural  expression.  The  Ionic  displays  no 
want  of  force,  no  lack  of  character,  but  it  does 
interpret  that  truly  feminine  spirit  of  yielding 
grace  which  man  may  recognize  and  appreciate 
in  woman,  but  which  he  cannot  truly  or  sincerely 
make  a  factor  in  his  own  self-expression.  In  the 
Ionic  the  abacus  is  not  employed  to  assist  in  gain- 
ing a  desired  proportion,  for  the  capital  does  not 
project  in  advance  of  the  face  of  the  epistyle;  but 
it  is  used  to  effect  a  pleasing  transition  between 
the  volutes  of  the  capital  and  the  entablature 
(Fig.  4-6  and  D) .  It  is  quite  possible  to  conceive 
of  the  member  in  which  the  volutes  develop  as 
being  a  refinement  on  the  Doric  abacus,  the  band 
or  necking  crowned  with  the  egg  and  dart  molding 
corresponding  to  the  echinus  with  its  annuli;  but 
it  is  much  more  logical,  the  character  of  the  Ionic 
being  understood,  to  regard  the  typical  form  of 
the  voluted  member  as  a  highly  conventionalized 
expression,  adopted  for  the  sake  of  simplicity  and 
clarity,  of  the  underlying  idea  of  a  rising  force 
fulfilling  its  mission  and  developing  a  graceful 
return  upon  itself  (Fig.  4~C) .  The  egg  and  dart 
molding  or  the  ovolo,  as  the  case  may  be,  is  un- 
doubtedly a  transitional  member  designed  to  carry 
the  ascending  movement  within  the  shaft  up 
through  the  capital  into  the  entablature. 

[59] 


O       O       O      O       O 

A     DIAGRAM  OF  FIELDS  OF  FOUCE 
AND  NEUTR-AL  ZONE    IN  A  BEAM 


4-f4-++.4-f-+-+4-f+4**-f+4-++  + 

Si  -9_  P_  s*—®-  _^  .?_ 

B  THE  DIAGRAM  MADE  INTO  A  PATTERN 


1 

II  II  Illl  II  II  II  II  II  II  II  II  INI  II  II  II  lj_ 

1  II 

>^.'?&teS£a&5&fcfo 

O      O     O      O      O      O      O 

s^? 

—T                               T^7T.T7 

THE  ENTABLATURE  POR.CM  OF  THE  MAIDENS 
5          EWECHTHEION  I 


[60] 


But  beautiful  and  expressive  as  is  the  Ionic 
column,  with  its  component  parts,  it  is  no  more 
subtle  or  characteristic  than  is  the  Ionic  entabla- 
ture, which  is  the  most  clean  cut  and  clear  aes- 
thetic interpretation  of  structural  forces  correctly 
functioning  that  exists  in  the  domain  of  architec- 
ture. We  should  judge  architecture,  as  we  do 
humanity,  from  its  highest  expression  and  not 
from  its  failures  or  at  its  lowest  ebb;  and  so  I 
shall  direct  attention  first  to  the  entablature  of 
the  Porch  of  the  Maidens  of  the  Erechtheion,  for 
finer  than  therein  aesthetic  feeling  for  function 
never  has  been  embodied.  The  extreme  of  poise 
and  balance  was  necessary  in  this  particular  ex- 
ample that  the  presentation  might  not  seem 
brutal;  for  the  rising  forces  which  meet  this  en- 
tablature and  sustain  it  are  cast  in  the  female 
form  —  the  form  of  the  goddess  —  and  the 
Greek  would  impose  upon  the  goddess  no  ruder 
task  than  bearing  a  burden  of  flowers!  I  must 
refer  again  to  those  forces  which  I  have  men- 
tioned as  operating  in  the  entablature,  the  com- 
pression above,  the  tension  below,  while  between 
them  lies  the  neutral  axis  along  which  neither 
force  is  operative.  In  structural  analysis  the  en- 
gineer designates  the  compressive  stress  by  a 
plus  sign  (  +  )  and  the  tensile  strain  by  a  minus 
sign  ( — ).  The  area  over  which,  or  the  axis 

[61] 


along  which,  no  force  acts  might  well  be  indicated 
by  a  zero  (o).  Let  us  arrange  these  signs  in  the 
order  and  position  in  which  the  forces  they  repre- 
sent are  active  in  the  beam  (Fig.  5-A),  and  let 
us  even  refine  the  pattern  by  a  repetition  of  its 
parts  (Fig.  5~B)  and  then  compare  this  with  a 
fragment  of  the  Porch  entablature  (Fig.  5-C). 
Is  not  the  result  of  the  comparison  suggestive,  if 
not  startling?  I  would  not  for  a  moment  be 
understood  as  saying  that  the  Greek  laid  out  a 
series  of  +  and  —  signs,  and  from  the  diagram 
shaped  the  forms  of  the  entablature;  but  I  insist 
that  the  aesthetic  intuition  of  the  Greek,  guided 
by  his  reason,  compelled  him  to  use  in  the  com- 
pressive  field  the  broken  lights  and  shades  of  the 
dentils,  et  cetera,  which  the  series  of  +  signs  sug- 
gests, and  in  the  tensile  field  the  fine-spun  lines  of 
tension  into  which  the  --  sign  is  so  readily  trans- 
lated. The  presence  of  the  circular  disks  in  the 
neutral  zone  causes  me  to  marvel  at  the  keenness 
of  the  Greek's  perception  and  the  refinement  of 
his  expression,  for,  to  me,  it  means  that  the  Greek 
deemed  that  he  had  so  finely  balanced  his  oppos- 
ing forces  that  perfect  poise  had  ensued;  that  he 
had  so  truly  expressed  this  equilibrium  that  there 
could  be  no  suggestion  of  disturbance  or  unrest 
even  with  the  delicately  disposed  disks  or  rollers 
intervening  between  the  forces.  A  member  less 

[62] 


perfectly  poised  and  with  parts  less  subtly  related 
would  have  been  out  of  harmony  with  the  graceful 
Maidens  of  the  Porch.  What  we  see  in  this  en- 
tablature may  stand  as  a  type  of  the  Ionic  entab- 
lature generally;  the  fine-spun  lines  of  the  fasciae 
of  the  epistyle,  the  neutral  zone  of  the  frieze 
given  over  to  applied  ornament,  and  the  broken 
light  and  shade  of  the  decorated  moldings  of  the 
cornice,  and  of  the  dentils  whenever  the  latter 
were  employed.  Never  in  his  finished  product 
does  the  Greek  make  the  fatal  aesthetic  mistake 
of  introducing  masses  or  fields  of  broken  light  and 
shade  into  the  lower  portion  of  the  entablature 
even  in  the  form  of  decoration. 

As  we  noted  in  the  analysis  of  the  Doric  so,  too, 
shall  we  see  in  the  Ionic:  that  there  is  an  aspiring 
force  rising  through  the  forms  of  the  entablature 
seeking  perfect  expression  as  the  structure  ap- 
proaches the  limit  which  is  set  for  it  by  its  creator. 
This  expression  is  in  obedience  to  that  law  of 
nature  which  causes  the  flower  to  break  forth  in 
beauty  at  the  end  of  the  stalk;  which  causes  the 
oak,  the  elm,  the  pine,  the  modest  shrub,  to  take 
on  each  its  characteristic  and  beautiful  outline 
and  individual  mass.  It  is,  as  I  have  said,  the  ex- 
pression of  a  reconciliation  to  and  an  acceptance 
of  what  is  implied  in  the  command  "  thus  far  shalt 
thou  go  and  no  farther,"  and  the  donning  of  a 

[63] 


B    CORINTHIAN  BELL 
CAPITAL 


RHYTHMIC  VERTICAL 
MOVEMENT  IN  THE          CAPITAL  OF  THE 
IONIC  ENTABLATURE     CHORAGIC  MONUMENT 


D  DOKIC       E  IONIC       FCORINTHIAN 

Fig  6 

[64] 


beautiful  form  to  express  the  spirit  with  which 
one  meets  the  end.  To  follow  the  forms  and 
curves  of  the  members  of  the  entablature  as  seen 
in  section  (Fig.  6-A)  will  convey  to  the  mind  an 
impression  of  how  beautifully  the  Ionic  Greek 
arose  to  the  sublime  occasion.  The  rhythmic 
movement  starts  upward  through  the  fasciae  of 
the  epistyle,  each  developing  a  richer  and  fuller 
line  of  stress  as  the  spirit  rises;  up  through  the 
frieze  it  springs  until  it  vibrates  in  the  light  and 
shade  of  the  cornice,  to  emerge  in  the  graceful 
cyma  or  crowning  molding  which  suggests  rather 
the  repose  after  struggle  than  a  continued  partici- 
pation therein.  The  cornice  is  like  the  breaking 
crest  of  the  spent  wave,  like  the  flower  at  the  end 
of  the  stem,  when  nature's  forces,  having  achieved 
that  for  which  they  struggled,  seek  the  end  in 
delicious  repose.  That  is  the  correct  interpre- 
tation of  the  crowning  members  of  a  structure 
and  the  sentiment  they  should  exhale. 

With  the  full  and  final  development  of  the 
Doric  and  Ionic  orders  ended  that  phase  of  Greek 
architecture  in  which  functional  forces  were  inter- 
preted in  altogether  abstract  forms,  and  the  reign 
of  the  literal  and  concrete  set  in.  This  later  phase 
marks  the  beginning  of  what  in  my  chapter 
sub-head  I  have  denominated  "  the  decadence.'1 
Holding  as  I  do  the  exalted  view  that  architecture 

[65] 


should  be  an  expression  in  the  abstract,  the  term 
"  decadence  "  expresses  the  nature  of  the  appeal 
to  me;  to  many,  undoubtedly,  the  development  of 
the  Corinthian  was  an  advance.  I  seem  to  see 
in  it  a  descent  from  the  high  intellectual  plane  to 
the  emotional,  or  rather,  the  sentimental.  The 
demands  of  luxury  and  the  desire  for  ornament 
for  its  own  sake  should,  it  seems  to  me,  have  been 
met  in  some  manner  other  than  in  perverting  or 
displacing  truly  functional  forms.  I  yield  to  no 
one  in  my  admiration  of  the  acanthus  in  the  hands 
of  the  Greek  sculptor,  but  were  it  to  have  a  place 
at  all  was  not  the  place  for  the  "  woven  acanthus 
wreath  divine  "  in  the  frieze  or  upon  the  wall 
panel,  in  the  zones  or  fields  of  repose,  rather  than 
in  the  capital  ?  The  later  Ionic  builders  must  have 
known  the  feature  thoroughly  and  may  have  been 
tempted  to  employ  it;  but  fidelity  to  the  ideal  for- 
bade and  the  Ionic  order  developed  in  its  purity. 
The  Corinthian  builders,  lovers  of  ornament  for 
its  own  sake,  were  not  content  with  functional  ex- 
pression no  matter  how  highly  idealized.  They 
of  themselves  or  through  contact  with  the  Doric 
and  the  Ionic  realized  the  real  meaning  of  the 
capital,  knew  that  it  "  exemplified  a  conflict,"  but 
did  not  see  fit  to  beautify  the  struggle ;  they  sought 
rather  to  conceal  it;  and  so  they  bound  a  beautiful 
acanthus  fillet  around  the  "  sore  "  spot,  and  hid, 

[66] 


as  it  were,  the  functioning  forms  with  a  fig  leaf. 
The  Corinthian  builder  in  all  probability  started 
out  with  a  certain  appreciation  of  the  idea  which 
underlay  the  Doric  and  the  Ionic,  for  in  his  earli- 
est work  he  employed  a  bell-shaped  capital l 
which  developed  against  an  abacus  a  functional 
curve  unlike  that  in  either  of  its  predecessors ;  and 
on  the  surface  he  sculptured  forms  which  may 
easily  be  conceived  as  expressive  of  developing 
force,  for  they  are  not  unlike  the  forms  which  ter- 
minate the  flutes  or  channelings  in  the  Temple 
of  Demeter,  Paestum  (Doric),  in  the  Erechtheion 
at  Athens  (Ionic),  and  which  appear  highly  de- 
veloped in  the  monument  of  Lysicrates,  Athens 
(Corinthian)  (Fig.  6-D,  E,  and  F).  Take  the 
capital  of  the  Coragic  monument.  Even  in  this 
capital  (Fig.  6-C),  which  embellishes  a  struc- 
ture which  is  almost  wholly  monumental  and  deco- 
rative in  its  character,  the  Corinthian  could  not 
entirely  rid  himself  of  the  earlier  influence,  and  the 
manner  in  which  it  impels  him  to  carry  the  feeling 

1  This  bell  capital  (Fig.  6— B)  bears  but  superficial  resem- 
blance to  the  Egyptian  from  which  certain  authors  have 
seen  fit  to  make  the  Corinthian  derive  it.  But  no  bell- 
shaped  Egyptian  capital  had  an  abacus  or  any  member 
corresponding  to  it;  nor  did  the  curve  of  any  Egyptian  cap- 
ital develop  functionally  against  the  lintel,  though  in  sev- 
eral instances  it  would  seem  so  to  do.  However  it  was  not 
introduced  for  that  purpose,  but  for  one  vastly  different,  as 
we  have  seen. 

[67] 


of  the  flutings  into  the  lowest  member  of  the  capi- 
tal is  almost  pathetic.  This  concession  over- 
powered him,  and  he  gave  way  immediately  and 
completely  to  his  new-born  love  of  ornament  for 
ornament's  sake.  There  is  the  hint  of  a  deeper 
meaning  in  the  forms  of  the  Corinthian  capital 
which  I  shall  have  occasion  to  touch  upon  when 
we  come  to  a  discussion  of  democratic  ideals,  a 
meaning  which  was  felt  in  the  Middle  Ages;  but 
as  the  ideal  which  called  for  its  expression  never 
entered  as  a  compelling  factor  into  Greek  life,  it 
could  not  have  influenced  the  forms  of  Greek  art. 
Had  it  been  an  influence  I  doubt  the  capacity  of 
the  Corinthian  to  receive  and  act  upon  it.  In  his 
later  and  fully  typical  capitals  the  Corinthian 
always  introduced  a  line  which  returned  upon 
itself  under  an  abacus  after  the  manner  of  the 
Ionic  volute;  but  if  an  idea  of  force  underlay  the 
form,  the  attenuated  form  expressed  a  thoroughly 
anaemic  force.  In  the  Corinthian  the  members  of 
the  entablature  were  consistently  and  correctly  de- 
veloped, with  special  emphasis  on  ornament,  but 
at  the  same  time  with  a  recognition  of  that  law  of 
aspiration  which  is  so  firmly  planted  in  the  heart 
of  nature  and  which  so  strongly  strives  for  ex- 
pression in  the  activities  and  in  the  conscious,  as 
well  as  subconscious,  efforts  of  humanity.  Yet  in 
spite  of  this  there  was  in  the  Corinthian  an  evident 

[68] 


confession,  though  possibly  an  unconscious  con- 
fession, of  a  lowering  moral  tone. 

As  I  shall  repeat  later  in  another  connection, 
architectural  forms  do  not  develop  from  structural 
necessity  but  in  response  to  aesthetic  demands. 
The  aesthetic  imagination  of  any  unified  race  or 
nation  colors  the  expression  of  all  its  activities, 
shapes  in  a  measure  its  social  usages  and  religious 
forms.  Uses  may  have  been  dictated  by  religion; 
form  was  dictated  by  aesthetics.  This  was  true 
of  the  Greeks.  Religion  may  have  called  for  the 
portico  and  the  colonnades  surrounding  the  tem- 
ples; it  probably  did,  but  art  gave  them  their  sig- 
nificant forms.  In  so  far  as  the  altar  and  the 
statue  of  the  god  were  concerned  all  the  cere- 
monial and  ministration  might  have  been  confined 
within  walls;  but  an  external  expression  of  what 
was  within,  of  the  deep  significance  of  what  was 
going  on  within,  was  demanded  by  the  aesthetic 
instinct;  hence  the  presence  of  the  columns.  The 
column  from  the  dawn  of  religious  consciousness 
has  been  revered  almost  as  a  god.  It  was  a  guide 
post  indicating  the  way  to  the  gods;  a  sign  post 
indicating  their  presence;  hence  its  employment 
in  temple  architecture.  The  Egyptian  made  it  a 
symbol ;  the  Greek  used  it  as  a  means  of  high  ethi- 
cal and  aesthetic  expression,  as  we  have  seen.  The 
entablature  drew  these  columns  into  a  unity;  a 

[69] 


unifying  ideal  drew  the  gods  into  a  pantheon. 
The  god  in  this  pantheon  found  expression  in  the 
Doric  column,  the  goddess  in  the  Ionic,  in  each 
the  definition  being  clear,  concise,  and  adequate. 
But  the  gods  did  not  stay  adequate  in  the  Greek 
mind;  confusion  entered;  the  expression  no  longer 
sufficed,  nor  was  the  definition  clear.  Man,  freed 
from  the  gods,  sought  to  express  himself.  Aus- 
terity, introspection,  idealism  gave  way  to  luxury, 
superficial  adornment,  and  weakening  force.  The 
Corinthian  began  the  movement  in  this  direction 
and  completed  it  so  far  as  classical  Greece  is  con- 
cerned. While  the  image  of  the  god  is  in  its 
shrine  and  incense  is  burned  before  it  and  rever- 
ence paid  it,  it  is  beautiful  in  its  austerity;  but 
when  the  shrine  is  desecrated  and  the  image  is 
removed  to  be  set  up  otherwhere,  merely  as  an  ob- 
ject of  ornament  or  of  bric-a-brac,  its  purity  of 
ideal  and  its  austerity  of  form  no  longer  appeal, 
and  it  is  draped  with  ribands  to  make  it  pretty 
and  with  garlands  of  natural  leaves  to  cover  its 
nakedness.  As  this  new  effect  is  copied  and  re- 
produced by  others  to  whom  the  true  significance 
is  lost,  but  who  crave  ornaments  or  decorations, 
the  garlands  are  sculptured  or  molded  upon  the 
figure  from  which  the  essential  characteristic  has 
vanished.  The  figure  no  longer  symbolizes  the 
godlike  attributes ;  the  column  no  longer  indicates 

[70] 


the  presence  of  the  god.  To  me  it  seems  that 
something  has  been  lost,  some  light  has  been 
shaded,  some  idealism  has  vanished;  and  so  I  feel 
that  with  the  coming  of  the  Corinthian  came  also 
decadence.  It  was  given,  however,  to  the  gran- 
deur that  was  Rome  to  tarnish  the  glory  that  was 
Greece;  to  create  or  apply,  merely  for  ornament, 
forms  which  did  not  function,  columns  which  did 
not  support,  and  entablatures  which  did  not  span 
the  void. 


V 

ROME,   ROMANESQUE,   AND   THE 
GOTHIC 


[74] 


ROME,    ROMANESQUE,   AND    THE 
GOTHIC 

K)ME  cannot  be  ignored  in  a  study  of  the 
changing  forms  of  manifestation,  and 
the  continuing  influence,  of  that  vital 
spirit  we  have  been  analyzing,  although  she  did 
so  little  toward  aiding  in  any  sincere  architectural 
manifestation  whatsoever,  and  did  so  much 
toward  interrupting  the  continuity  of  the  influ- 
ence; for  Rome  was  a  great  builder,  and  her 
buildings  were  instinct  with  power.  But  the 
Romans  were  engineers  rather  than  architects, 
and  architecture  is  as  far  removed  from  engineer- 
ing as  poetry  is  from  prose.  Architecture,  the 
art,  as  far  transcends  engineering  as  mural  paint- 
ing transcends  protective  coating,  or  as  the  dance 
transcends  mere  locomotion.  We  are  interested 
in  Rome  at  this  juncture  because  she  developed 
a  great  arcuated  system  of  construction  which, 
later,  under  the  wand  of  northern  and  eastern 
magicians,  was  touched  with  the  vital  spirit  and 
became  real  architecture.  We  are  interested,  also, 

[75] 


because  Rome  exemplified  in  all  her  endeavors  in 
art  that  philosophy  of  life  which  bids  its  follow- 
ers "  seem  beautiful."  She  seemed  to  realize  her 
own  inability  to  create  ideal  beauty  —  she  prob- 
ably had  little  conception  of  it  —  but  she  craved 
ornament  in  which  to  cloak  her  structures  and  give 
appropriate  setting  to  her  sensuous  and  over- 
powering social  and  governmental  life.  She 
seemed  to  recognize  in  the  architecture  of  Greece 
and  her  colonies  a  fitting  form  of  embellishment; 
not  knowing  architecture  as  an  expression  of  life 
but  merely  as  the  skin  coat  of  a  building.  And  so 
Rome  imported  artisans  from  Greece  and  bade 
them  apply  the  exotic  Greek  forms  to  the  native 
Roman  structures,  with  the  resultant  hybrid  which 
has  been  the  bane  of  architecture  in  the  Western 
World.  How  different  had  been  the  architecture 
of  the  Renaissance  had  Rome  bidden  her  Greek 
servants  apply  their  genius  to  a  real  solution  of 
the  problem  of  idealizing  the  Roman  form  of  con- 
struction! The  western  Empire  was  never  fair 
to  Greek  genius  as  the  eastern  Empire  always 
tried  to  be  —  conserving  the  Greek  spirit  and 
giving  the  world  through  it  the  wonderful  struc- 
ture of  Hagia  Sophia.  But  what  was  needed  to 
interpret  Roman  life  was  not  Greek  genius,  but 
Roman  genius,  and  that  Rome  could  not  produce. 
There  is  no  gainsaying  the  power,  the  magnifi- 

[76] 


cence,  and  the  dominating  character  of  the  Roman 
structures  even  behind  or  through  the  pseudo- 
Greek  mask;  while  the  great  engineering  works, 
like  the  aqueducts,  the  viaducts,  and  the  unmasked 
Pantheon,  approach  real  architecture  perhaps 
nearer  than  poetical  prose  approaches  real  poetry. 
It  must  be  said  in  justice  to  the  Greeks  who  were 
called  to  produce  architecture  for  Rome  that 
when  they  were  not  degrading  Greek  forms  by 
applying  them  to  an  arcuated  structure,  but  were 
working  in  the  trabeated  system  purely,  they  car- 
ried out  the  structural  expression  in  the  entab- 
lature with  fine  logic  and  to  a  degree  of  richness 
quite  commensurate  with  the  power  and  gran- 
deur of  Rome,  and  quite  surpassing  anything 
which  had  been  attempted  even  in  the  most  ornate 
examples  of  the  Greek.  In  expressing  the  upward 
movement  within  the  entablature,  in  objectifying 
those  forces  which  rise  to  carry  the  cornice  and 
the  roof  and  complete  the  design  as  it  approaches 
the  superimposed  "  limitation  of  finality,"  these 
Greek  architects  of  Rome  in  many  instances  de- 
veloped grace  and  charm  in  the  highest  degree 
and  enunciated  clearly,  though  as  it  might  have 
seemed  to  the  early  Greek  redundantly,  a  philos- 
ophy of  life  far  in  advance  of  that  system  which 
enjoins  one  "  to  seem  beautiful,"  a  philosophy 
which  demands  of  its  adherents  that  in  all  their 

[77] 


acts  they  "  be  beautiful."  The  fact  that  these 
architects  did  seem  to  comprehend  so  fully  the 
functioning  of  the  entablature  makes  it  all  the 
more  surprising  and  distressing  that  they  should 
have  used  this  feature  as  a  string  course;  that 
they  did  not  change  the  forms  of  the  members, 
eliminating  entirely  the  expression  of  tension,  and 
strengthening  the  impression  of  vertical  support; 
for  a  string  course  cannot  function  in  tension,  nor 
can  it  function  compressively  in  the  horizontal 
plane.  Rome  furnishes  in  her  arcuated  structures 
with  their  superficial  adornment  a  supreme  object 
lesson  in  that  perversion  and  degradation  which 
follow  when  taste  is  vulgarized  by  wealth,  and 
vanity  directs  the  expression  of  power.  Often  the 
entablature  is  bent  around  the  arch  into  semi- 
circular or  segmental  form  without  a  change  in  its 
sectional  outline.  Thus  the  arch,  which  always  is 
in  compression  in  all  its  sectional  area,  retains 
superficially  an  expression  of  tensional  functioning 
in  its  inner  rim.  If  the  beam,  which  the  entabla- 
ture is  designed  to  typify,  is  to  be  bent  to  arch 
form,  as  a  bow  is  bent,  then  the  tension  must 
occur,  and  should  be  indicated,  if  at  all,  in  the 
outer  rim.  But  a  beam  is  never  so  bent;  and  an 
arch  can  never  so  function.  And  yet  the  archi- 
tects of  the  Renaissance,  exponents  of  "  classic 
culture  and  refinement "  as  they  are  supposed  to 

[78] 


be  used,  and  their  disciples  of  today  still  use, 
these  forms  in  this  debased  and  debasing  manner 
all  unconscious  of  the  violence  they  are  doing  to 
real  culture  and  refinement.  It  is  one  of  those 
habits  which  make  of  architecture  a  whited  sep- 
ulchre. If  Rome,  with  all  her  power  and  riches 
and  love  of  display  and  magnificence,  could  have 
been  sincere  and  introspective  and  creative,  what 
a  great  real  architecture  might  have  been  hers. 
But  she  could  not.  With  her  arcuated  forms  call- 
ing for  the  original  touch  of  creative  genius,  with, 
at  the  same  time,  a  racial  and  intuitive  feeling  for 
horizontality  and  what  that  implies  in  architec- 
ture, she  frittered  away  an  opportunity  which  will 
never  occur  again  for  developing  a  great  real 
style. 

The  builders  of  the  Romanesque,  scattered,  im- 
potent, ununited  as  they  were,  felt  the  stir  of  the 
spirit  which  Rome  with  all  her  unity  and  resources 
had  missed.  They  touched  the  massive  arches 
with  a  spirit  of  functional  beauty;  and  what  with 
others  had  been  dead  form  became  with  them  mat- 
ter instinct  with  life.  The  Greek  idea  employed 
upon  a  column  and  beam  system  had  been  to 
express  the  rising  force  within  the  column,  to 
beautify  the  conflict  at  the  point  where  opposing 
forces  met,  to  express  the  complex  forces  at  work 
within  the  beam,  and  to  bring  all  the  discordant 

[79] 


A  FIELD  OF  BROKEN 
LIGHT  AND  JHADE 
WHE.R.E  THE  COMPRESSION 
CONCENTRATES 


C 


ABSTRACT  FORMS 
EXPRESSING 
RISING  FORCES 


INDIVIDUAL  FORCES 
ACTING  IN   UMITY 


]V 

\} 


CORBEL  TABLES 

FROM    R.05EN  GARTEN 


Fig  7       ROMANESQUE 


[80] 


factors  into  one  harmonious  whole.  The  field  of 
operations  for  the  builders  of  the  Romanesque 
was  not  a  column  and  lintel,  but  a  massive  wall 
pierced  by  arched  openings  or  a  mass  pierced  with 
vaults;  and  so  they  amplified  the  Greek  idea  or, 
better,  modified  it  to  meet  the  changed  conditions. 
Where  the  repose  of  the  mass  was  interrupted, 
as  by  openings  (Fig.  7~A),  where  stresses  were 
forced  to  change  their  direction  and  operate  under 
new  or  altered  conditions,  there  the  Romanesque 
builder  took  opportunity  to  apply  his  theory  of 
beauty  —  which  was  a  law  of  life  —  the  old  Greek 
theory  that  necessary  stress  and  strain  must  not 
result  in  ugliness,  but  that  the  outcome  of  the 
struggle  must  be  beauty.  In  a  way  his  problem 
was  not  as  complicated  as  was  that  of  the  Greek, 
for  he  had  but  one  force  —  compression  —  with 
which  to  deal,  tension  or  any  need  for  its  expres- 
sion being  eliminated  by  the  nature  of  his  struc- 
tural principle.  Though  into  the  Greek  system 
tension  entered  to  complicate  the  situation,  yet 
compression  operated  in  but  two  directions,  ver- 
tically in  the  column  and  horizontally  in  the  en- 
tablature. In  the  Romanesque,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  compression  acted  vertically,  horizontally,  on 
the  diagonal,  in  the  curve,  in  every  conceivable 
direction,  and,  at  times,  all  in  one  composition. 
So  the  problems  of  harmony  and  unity  were  not 

[81] 


altogether  simple  ones  for  the  Romanesque  archi- 
tect. But  he  entered  upon  his  work  in  a  spirit  of 
sincerity,  using  forms  (Fig.  y-B)  as  abstract  as 
those  of  the  early  Greeks  and  functioning  in  the 
same  manner;  directing  the  force  through  columns 
(Fig.  7-C)  where  it  seemed  desirable;  letting  it 
play  through  fields  of  broken  light  and  shade 
where  the  unity  and  beauty  of  the  composition  so 
demanded.  The  Romanesque  arch  is  always 
frankly  in  compression  and  the  frankness  is  never 
minimized.  The  early  builders  were  imbued  with 
the  horizontality  of  the  classic  periods  —  individu- 
alism and  intense  spiritual  emotionalism  had  not 
yet  entered  as  compelling  factors  into  life  —  and 
horizontality  was  expressed  by  string  courses  and 
corbel  tables  (Figs.  7~D,  E)  in  which  the  forces 
sprang  vertically,  the  tendency  being  always  up- 
ward, always  expressing  that  aspiring  spirit  in 
man  which  will  not  down  and,  wanting  which,  as 
sometimes  happens  in  case  of  a  temporary  rebuff, 
man  lapses  from  his  spiritual  estate. 

The  Romanesque  marked  the  transition  be- 
tween the  old  and  new  orders,  between  the  severe 
intellectual  restraint  of  the  Greek  and  the  indi- 
vidualistic and  highly  emotionalistic  nature  of 
medievalism.  The  earlier  Romanesque  forms 
are  marked  by  classic  restraint;  the  later  forms 
foretell  the  imminence  of  mediaeval  emotionalism. 

[82] 


It  were  well  to  emphasize  the  point  that  the  Ro- 
manesque was  transitional  —  a  leading  of  one 
form  of  idealism  into  another  —  and  not  a  stop- 
gap filling  in  the  space  between  the  end  of  one 
and  the  beginning  of  another  distinct  order.  The 
Greek  religion  called  upon  the  individual  to  sink 
himself  in  the  welfare  of  the  city  or  of  the  state. 
The  forces  act  as  one,  individuality  being  merged 
in  the  mass;  and  so  the  flutings  of  the  Greek 
column  do  not  express  individual  forces  rising  in 
the  column;  but  they  characterize  the  resistance, 
the  vitality,  the  unity  of  the  single  force  within 
the  mass.  The  Gothic  piers,  developing  in  their 
final  expression,  as  they  do,  into  clustered  columns, 
typify  the  individualistic  tendency  of  the  age,  the 
combining  of  individual  and  single  forces  toward 
the  achievement  of  a  common  end.  The  Gothic 
is  the  expression  of  a  democratic  or  communal  as 
opposed  to  an  aristocratic  or  centralized  order  of 
society. 

It  is  in  the  temples,  of  the  Greek,  of  the  Roman- 
esque or  transition,  and  of  the  mediaeval  or  Gothic, 
that  we  find  the  characteristic  quality  of  the  par- 
ticular age  most  richly  and  vividly  expressed;  for 
into  his  temples  man  has  always  put  the  fullest  and 
most  characteristic  expression  of  himself.  These 
temples  are  the  expression  of  man's  religious 
nature,  which  takes  its  character  from  the  life  and 


TYPES  OF  EARLY  CAPITALS 


TYPES  OF 

MOULDED     P1ER5 

UNIT  FORCED  WORKING 

TOWARD  THE  COMMON  EflD 


NOTL  SUGGESTION 


OF  ATTIC  BASE-:..  '') 


BASE  Of  AN 
ELABORATELY  MOULDED 


Fig  8       GOTHIC 


[84] 


idealism  of  the  age,  and  are  not  the  embodiment 
of  creeds.  The  classic  temples  were  pagan  when 
the  thought  was  pagan ;  they  were  Christian  when 
the  thought  was  Christian,  but  through  all  they 
were  classic.  The  Gothic  temples  were  mediaeval 
always  and  were  Christian  only  as  medievalism 
shaped  the  Christian  thought  of  that  Era.  If 
Christianity  persists  it  will  worship  in  temples 
different  in  form  from  either  the  classic  or  the 
Gothic,  possibly  in  temples  embodying  some  of  the 
spirit  of  each  (as  did  the  Romanesque)  ;  or  else 
the  race  will  not  advance,  but  will  lapse  into  a 
barbarism  from  which  there  must  be  a  new  and 
altogether  independent  awakening;  not  a  rebirth, 
but  a  new  creation. 

As  the  Greek  spirit  manifested  itself  through- 
out the  period  of  the  Romanesque,  so  did  it  enter 
into  the  beginnings  of  the  Gothic  and  express 
itself  in  abstract  forms  (Fig.  8-A  to  G)  which 
persisted  to  the  last  in  spite  of  the  introduction  of 
naturalistic  forms  significant  of  personal  predilec- 
tions, of  individual  loves  and  hates.  The  forces 
in  the  clustered  piers  rise  from  a  molded  base 
quite  similar  in  character  and  function  to  the  attic 
base  of  the  Ionic  (Fig.  8-G).  To  preserve  the 
unity  of  the  clustered  members  they  sometimes 
are  banded  by  moldings,  which  do  not  check  the 
ascent,  but  do  materially  lend  suggestion  of  sta- 

[85] 


bility.  The  pier  is  crowned  with  a  capital,  some- 
times simple  in  form,  sometimes  more  involved, 
as  would  of  necessity  be  the  case  where  each  of 
the  individual  shafts  of  the  cluster  had  its  own 
capital  intervening  between  the  shaft  and  the  arch 
which  springs  above.  The  line  of  force  developed 
in  the  Gothic  capital,  as  in  the  Romanesque,  is  one 
similar  to  that  from  which  we  may  readily  and 
logically  conceive  the  Ionic  volute  to  have 
evolved:  the  upspringing  force  yielding  to  the 
pressure  from  above  and  given  its  initial  direction 
and  character  by  a  necking  similar  to  the  band 
which  encircles  the  mass,  and  which  keeps  the 
forces  intact  (Fig.  8-B).  Sometimes  this  expres- 
sion takes  the  form  of  a  molding  continuous 
around  the  capital ;  sometimes  it  takes  the  form  of 
individual  arms  of  force,  as  is  suggested  by  the 
detail  of  the  bell  capital  of  the  Corinthian.  Some- 
times one  of  these  individual  arms  rises  above 
another  and  similar  one,  suggesting  two  lines  of 
individual  force  developing  in  unity,  in  the  pure 
mediaeval  spirit,  one  force  developing  its  own 
character  and  perfection  in  aiding  another  to 
achieve  the  common  end  (Fig.  8-C).  This  is 
what  the  Corinthian  may  have  had  in  mind  and 
may  have  been  endeavoring  to  express  in  applying 
his  two  fillets  of  acanthus  leaves;  it  would  have 
been  an  attempt  at  the  expression  of  a  democratic 

[86] 


ideal.  But  really  democracy  was  never  achieved 
in  Greece,  that  is,  not  in  the  mediaeval  nor  in  the 
modern  sense;  and  so,  as  already  indicated,  we 
must  believe  that  the  Corinthian  leaf  band  was 
introduced  for  the  sake  of  embellishment  rather 
than  to  embody  a  deeper  meaning  or  express  a 
higher  ideal.  This  mediaeval  expression,  how- 
ever, holds  within  it  a  potent  suggestion  and  a 
rich  lesson  for  today.  In  the  arch  the  lines  are 
refined,  while  broken  masses  of  light  and  shade 
produced  by  rhythmically  spaced  bosses  after  the 
manner  of  the  Ionic  dentils  or  consoles  (Fig. 
8-H),  or  by  canopies  and  carvings  comparable  in 
a  measure  to  the  Doric  triglyphs  and  metopes, 
convey  an  idealized  impression  of  the  compression 
acting  within  and  the  changing  direction  of  that 
force  in  the  soaring  member. 

While,  because  of  the  absolutely  different  men- 
tal attitudes  of  the  ages,  the  mediaeval  expression 
was  not  as  refined  and  as  intellectually  satisfying 
as  the  Greek,  yet  there  can  be  no  question  that  the 
same  idea  underlay  both,  the  idea  of  embodying 
in  the  forms  and  lines  of  mass  and  detail  an  aes- 
thetic conception  of  the  action  and  interaction  of 
the  forces  inhering  in  the  structure.  As  already 
stated,  the  Greek  accepted  and  adopted  a  tra- 
beated  system  as  best  adapted  to  the  expression  of 
his  restrained  and  self-contained  intellectualism. 

[87] 


The  mediaeval  man  evolved  an  arcuated  system 
which  lent  itself  fully  and  richly  to  an  expression 
of  his  wellnigh  unrestrained  and  uncontained 
emotionalism.  Each  was  working  in  terms  of 
force ;  the  one  with  force  calmly  and  serenely  meet- 
ing force;  the  other  with  force  actively  resisting 
force  with  balance  and  counterbalance,  with  thrust 
and  counterthrust.  The  one  sought  an  expression 
of  final  poise  and  repose;  the  other  expressed  an 
aspiration  and  an  ideal  which  could  not  find  ful- 
fillment in  things  material  but  must  ever  draw  the 
spirit  upward.  The  one  expressed  in  complete- 
ness all  that  is  implied  by  horizontality  as  inter- 
preting the  intellectual  life;  the  other  gave  rich 
expression  to  that  incompletion  and  lack  of  finality 
which  inheres  in  verticality.  Each  embodied 
completely,  in  his  aesthetic  expression  of  the  lesson 
and  meaning  of  life,  a  conception  of  that  ascend- 
ing spirit  in  man,  that  spirit  which  will  not  down, 
but  which  must,  in  this  life  or  in  another,  be 
crowned  with  an  emblem  of  perfection  and  of 
destiny  fulfilled. 


[88] 


VI 

ORIGINS  AND   ILLUSIONS 


[90] 


ORIGINS  AND   ILLUSIONS 


IN  this  chapter  I  am  entering  a  field  over  a 
portion  of  which  considerable  controversy 
has  waged,  and  in  which  continually  things 
are  being  "  seen  "  which  really  have  no  cause  for 
being  seen  at  all.  They  can  exist,  most  of  them, 
only  in  matter-of-fact  minds  of  a  mechanical  turn 
and  not  at  all  in  minds  which  are  endowed  with 
any  degree  of  aesthetic  imagination.  ^Esthetic 
imagination  is  spiritual  in  its  essence  and  does 
not  need  to  be  stimulated  by  the  "  adze/'  by  the 
turning  lathe,  by  interlacing  branches  of  standing 
trees,  or  by  any  of  the  physical  facts  of  the  ma- 
terial universe.  The  spiritual  ideal  is  quite  suffi- 
cient to  sustain  the  aesthetic  imagination  and  the 
soul  of  man.  I  say  this  because  so  many  writers 
of  architectural  history  make  so  much  of  physical 
origins,  losing  sight  of,  if  ever  they  saw,  the  real 
significance  beneath  the  form.  Thus  pages,  I  may 
say  volumes,  have  been  written  in  asseveration  of 
the  idea  that  the  Doric  Greeks  received  the  origi- 

[91] 


nal  suggestion  for  the  column  flutings  from  the 
adze  marks  on  wooden  posts  which  were  tree 
trunks  with  the  bark  blazed  away!  Did  anyone 
who  ever  had  the  slightest  conception  of  the  con- 
tent and  meaning  of  Grecian  architecture  believe 
that?  If  the  wooden  posts  which  were  used  in 
prehistoric  construction  were  shaped  to  polygonal 
section,  and  there  is  no  existing  proof  that  they 
were  so  shaped,  it  is  because  that  form  was  in- 
spired by  an  idea,  and  not  because  the  adze  would 
naturally  leave  the  post  in  that  shape,  for  it  would 
not.  The  form  resulting  from  the  use  of  the  tool 
would  naturally  be  more  nearly  cylindrical ;  so  that 
if  the  workmen  were  at  some  pains  to  produce  the 
polygonal  form  it  must  have  been  for  some  spe- 
cific reason;  and  that  same  reason  held  in  higher 
degree  in  the  more  finely  developed  and  civilized 
minds  which  later  sought  to  express  themselves 
in  stone.  Even  had  the  Greeks  blazed  flat  sur- 
faces and  sharp  angles  or  edges  on  their  wooden 
posts,  and,  again,  I  say  no  proof  exists  that  they 
did  so,  it  does  not  follow  that  the  form  suggested 
the  channelings  in  the  stone  shaft.  The  channel 
was  the  expression  of  a  mental  concept  made  pos- 
sible of  realization  only  through  the  nature  and 
employment  of  stone.  Writers  of  some  repute 
have  gone  so  far  as  to  suggest,  if  not  to  aver,  that 
the  Greeks,  the  greatest  masters  of  idealized  con- 

[92] 


struction,  could  not  think  for  themselves  but  must 
needs  go  to  Egypt,  to  the  rock  temples  of  Beni 
Hassan,  for  instance,  for  an  exemplar  of  how 
wooden  forms  might  be  translated  into  stone, 
which,  having  found,  they  adopted  into  their 
temple  construction.  Let  us  leave  out  of  count 
any  such  altogether  baseless  notion  as  that  these 
forms  found  in  Egypt  were  "  proto-Doric  "  — 
they  may  have  been  pre-Donc  —  and  look  at  the 
matter  from  another  angle.  The  stone  posts  of 
Beni  Hassan,  some  with  eight  flat  sides,  some 
with  sixteen,  and  some  with  sides  slightly  chan- 
neled (showing  that  their  origin  was  stone),  are 
entirely  devoid  of  any  suggestion  of  entasis;  and 
each  is  capped  with  a  rectangular  pillow  block 
between  which  and  the  shaft  no  molding  inter- 
venes. This  latter  fact  alone  removes  them  abso- 
lutely and  infinitely  from  any  possible  relation- 
ship to  the  Doric.  There  was  no  Doric,  or  no 
idea  approaching  the  Doric,  until  the  echinus  in- 
terposed its  beautiful  and  resilient  line  of  resist- 
ance between  a  richly  channeled  shaft  and  an 
abacus  which  existed  not  for  structural  but  for 
purely  aesthetic  reasons.  If  one  wishes  to  appre- 
ciate very  fully  the  difference  in  "  feeling  "  which 
so  far  separates  the  real  Doric  from  this  so-called 
"  proto,"  he  can  readily  enter  into  the  spirit,  or 
have  the  spirit  enter  into  him,  by  the  following 

[93] 


c 

DORIC 


A 


B 


1 


D      IE       IF 

IONIC     I  GOTHIC   1  ARABIAN 


Q     TYPICAL  LINES  OF  FORCE        'f 

-X ooojon 


[94] 


experiment:  go  into  a  low-studded  room,  and 
standing  upon  a  support  which  will  just  admit  of 
an  erect  posture,  press  the  top  of  the  head  against 
the  ceiling  with  the  axis  of  the  body  in  a  vertical 
line;  the  sensation  throughout  the  body  will  be 
that  of  a  hopeless,  lifeless  resistance  to  a  brute 
force.  Then,  with  the  palm  of  the  hand  toward, 
but  not  touching,  the  ceiling,  press  upward,  meet- 
ing the  resistance  with  the  tips  of  the  fingers.  The 
sensation  in  /the  body  will  be  that  of  buoyant,  vital 
force  rising  hopefully  and  eagerly  to  meet  the  re- 
sistance. Now  look  at  the  outline  of  the  hand  as 
it  exerts  this  upward  pressure  and  take  note  of  the 
play  of  muscles  in  the  forearm.  The  back  of  the 
hand  forms  the  line  of  a  beautiful  refined  Doric 
echinus ;  at  the  junction  with  the  wrist  will  be  seen 
the  outline  of  the  fillets  or  annuli  (Fig.  9~A). 
The  sensation  in  the  forearm  will  suggest  the 
meaning  of  the  flutings  or  channelings,  while  its 
outline  will  reveal  the  truth  and  the  practical  and 
aesthetic  necessity  of  the  entasis.  You  will  be  a 
man,  probably,  conducting  this  demonstration, 
and  the  force  you  exert  will  be  a  masculine  force 
and  the  lines  will  be  lines  of  masculine  expression. 
If  a  woman  of  the  gentle  feminine  type  is  watch- 
ing the  experiment,  she,  naturally,  absorbed  in  the 
process,  will  let  her  chin  rest  on  the  back  of  her 
hand  while  the  elbow  is  planted  upon  the  arm  of 

[95] 


the  chair  or  on  other  convenient  resting  place 
(Fig.  9~B).  The  force  she  is  exerting  in  her 
arm  is  a  feminine  force  and  the  lines  of  her  hand 
are  lines  of  feminine  expression.  This  is  abso- 
lutely in  accord  with  Greek  ideals  of  manliness 
and  womanliness,  of  masculinity  and  femininity; 
for  these  lines  as  seen  in  art  are  in  their  origin 
expressions  of  Greek  ideals.  The  Greeks  en- 
dowed their  gods  with  their  idea  of  masculine 
characteristics,  among  which  were  physical  power, 
mental  vigor,  and  spiritual  resilience.  They  en- 
dowed their  goddesses  according  to  their  idea  of 
feminine  characteristics,  among  which  were  soft- 
ness and  roundness  of  physical  form,  refinement 
of  mentality,  and  grace  and  sweetness  of  spirit; 
and  so  the  Doric  was  the  masculine  architectural 
expression  of  the  god  and  the  Ionic  the  feminine 
architectural  expression  of  the  goddess.  I  am 
not  saying  that  the  Greeks,  seeing  the  lines  of  the 
hand  developed  under  these  two  conditions,  said, 
"  Go  to,  now,  we  will  translate  this  form  into  a 
Doric  echinus,  or  that  form  into  an  Ionic  volute," 
but  I  maintain  that  the  Greeks  did  feel  and  em- 
body in  their  architecture  what  you  feel  in  your 
body  in  so  meeting  resistance,  and  they  found  an 
expression  for  it  in  wood  or  in  stone  or  in  what- 
ever material  they  employed  in  their  temple  con- 
struction. Our  writers  do  not  stop  with  evolving 

[96] 


flutings,  smoothly  concave  and  parallel  with  the 
axis  of  the  shaft,  from  adze  mark's  roughly  con- 
cave, if  at  all,  and  at  right  angles  to  the  line  of 
force,  but  must  need  find  or  devise  wooden  models 
for  the  members  and  details  of  the  entablature. 
The  guttas  are  wooden  pin  ends,  as  are  the  mu- 
tules;  the  triglyphs  are  developments  of  beam  ends, 
regardless  of  the  fact,  which  is  stated  by  the  most 
observing  and  erudite  of  them,  that  there  is  to  be 
found  no  example  or  record  of  beams  having  been 
placed  opposite  to  the  triglyphs,  but  that  so  far 
as  known  the  beams  rested  above  them!  I  have 
tried  in  a  preceding  chapter  to  make  clear  my  idea 
of  the  real  meaning  of  the  triglyphs  and  other 
members  of  the  entablature,  both  in  the  Doric  and 
the  Ionic,  and  even  if  one  does  not  see  fit  to  accept 
my  conclusions,  I  do  not  see  why,  whether  or  not 
the  original  was  of  wood  or  of  stone,  the  triglyph 
should  not  be  conceived  of  as  functioning  structur- 
ally purely  as  a  vertical  support.  Why  drag  in 
the  unknown,  the  problematical,  to  explain  the 
obvious?  There  are  those,  I  appreciate,  who,  to 
grasp  it,  must  have  a  physical  counterpart  for  a 
spiritual  idea;  those  who  have  not  the  imagina- 
tion to  see  that,  or  how,  an  abstraction  becomes 
concrete  through  the  operation  of  the  creative 
mind,  but  must  look  for  the  physical  model.  Such 
as  these  could  easily  convince  themselves  that  the 

[97] 


Creator  was  led  to  fashion  man  through  seeing 
a  doll  baby  which  some  cosmic  infant  had  dropped 
into  chaos.  It  may  be  said  with  truth  that  such 
minds  as  these  are  not  far  removed  from  the  bulk 
of  the  architectural  profession,  who,  when  con- 
fronted with  a  contemporaneous  problem  are 
forced  by  their  limited  imagination  to  fall  back  on 
forms  developed  in  another  age,  under  dissimilar 
conditions,  for  a  different  purpose.  (This  tribute 
to  the  profession  in  passing!) 

Probably  the  most  grotesque  lack  of  compre- 
hension as  to  origins  lies  in  the  minds  of  those 
who  seriously  relate  the  aisles  of  a  mediaeval 
church  to  "  forest  aisles  "  and  evolve  the  pillars 
and  high  springing  ribs  from  lofty  tree  trunks 
and  interlacing  branches.  This  is  a  pretty  idea, 
conceived  by  one  who  never  had  analyzed  the  clus- 
tered columns  and  the  molded  piers  and  ribs; 
one  who  never  had  considered  the  vast  difference 
between  a  social  order  in  which  the  units  combined 
and  worked  together  harmoniously  and  enthusi- 
astically, and  with  the  deepest  of  emotionalism, 
around  a  common  idea  toward  a  common  end,  and 
two  tree  trunks  adding  rings  year  by  year  and  send- 
ing branches  out  anywhere  into  the  blue.  It  is 
almost  as  much  of  a  misconception  to  ascribe  a 
Christian  or  a  religious  origin  to  the  forms  which 
appear  in  these  same  mediaeval  piles.  In  reality 

[98] 


the  forms  were  not  Christian,  but  were  the  aesthetic 
expression  of  an  intense  emotionalism  which  char- 
acterized the  age  and  gave  color  to  all  its  insti- 
tutions. Mediaeval  Christianity  took  on  its  emo- 
tionalism because  the  age  was  emotional.  All  the 
secular  and  civil  architecture  of  the  age  employed 
these  forms  and  took  on  this  aspect,  yet  we  do  not 
call  it  Christian  or  religious  but  mediaeval.  With- 
out a  doubt  Christianity  was  the  fullest  flower  of 
mediaeval  thought  and  life,  and  because  of  that 
the  religious  edifices  assumed  their  Vast  propor- 
tions and  developed  a  plan  which  functioned  for 
Christian  uses.  The  fact  that  these  buildings  were 
mediaeval  unsuits  tfiem  in  great  measure  for  Chris- 
tian expression  today,  though  replicas,  trivial  and 
otherwise,  are  being  forced  into  present-day  Chris- 
tian service.  Fully  as  logically  might  we  employ 
the  pure  classic  forms  in  the  same  service.  The 
Christian  churches  of  Rome  were  classical,  yet  we 
do  not  call  the  classical  Christian  architecture, 
though  it  is  quite  as  expressive  of  the  Christianity 
of  that  time  as  was  the  mediaeval  of  its  time.  The 
origins  of  architecture  are  aesthetic;  not  religious, 
not  civil,  not  domestic.  The  most  vital  point  of 
all  in  the  matter  of  origins  is  this :  neither  the 
Greek  forms  nor  the  mediaeval  forms,  nor,  for 
that,  any  other  architectural  forms,  arose  from 
structural  necessities  or  requirements,  but  in  re- 

[99] 


sponse  to  the  richest  and  deepest  aesthetic  de- 
mands of  the  age.  Greece  demanded  a  horizontal 
expression  and  applied  its  genius  to  an  existing 
structural  system.  Medievalism  demanded  a  ver- 
tical expression,  and  mediaeval  genius  responded 
with  the  lofty  pillar,  the  high-springing  arch,  and 
the  wide-flung  buttress.  The  Orient  demanded 
picturesque  and  daring  fancy,  not  to  say  fantasy, 
and  the  genius  of  the  Arab  responded  with  the 
slender  shaft  and  the  unstable  arch.  The  age 
gets  architecturally,  that  is,  aesthetically,  what  its 
genius  is  prepared  to  give  it;  and  for  its  genius 
the  age  is  wholly  responsible. 

There  are  other  misconceptions  as  to  origins. 
For  instance,  it  is  held  in  some  quarters  that  the 
Greeks  developed  their  'horizontal  style  because 
the  quarries  of  the  region  yielded  great  blocks 
of  stone  which  could  span  voids  in  one  piece.  That 
may  well  account  for  the  development  of  a  tra- 
beated  system  but  not  for  Greek  feeling.  It  is 
held,  too,  that  Gothic  architecture  was  called  into 
existence  by  the  fact  that  the  quarries  of  the 
North  yielded  but  small  blocks.  That  might  well 
account  for  the  arch  or  the  vault  but  not  for 
Gothic  architecture.  Some  other  and  more  im- 
portant factor  is  accountable  for  the  existence 
of  the  Gothic.  The  Gothic  builders  really  broke 
up  huge  blocks  into  smaller  units,  which  they 

ioo 


shaped  to  fit  the  character  and  exigencies  of  the 
design.  When  the  Renaissance  relit  the  candle 
of  Roman  classicism  and  demanded  the  expres- 
sion of  horizontality  in  architecture,  it  was  no 
drawback  that  the  northern  quarries  yielded  only 
small  stones.  The  drawback  was  that  the -'de- 
signers of  the  Renaissance  could  conceive  of  n*>  ,  ,  ;  ; 
expression  of  horizontality  except  that  offered  t:6 
them  by  Rome.  In  accepting  and  applying  these 
proffered  forms  they  developed  one  of  the  most 
inharmonious,  illogical,  and  unaesthetic  features 
which  ever  has  cursed  architecture  —  the  arch 
dressed  to  function  as  a  beam.  Nothing  archi- 
tecturally uglier  or  more  restless  has  been  con- 
ceived than  the  horizontal  lines  of  the  entabla- 
ture crossing  the  radial  lines  of  the  "  flat  arch." 
Tension  expressed  where  only  compression  can 
exist,  if  the  structure  is  to  remain  intact!  It  is  a 
clear  statement  by  the  Renaissance,  that  "  Renais- 
sance "  is  merely  a  term  of  convenience  —  not  a 
definition  —  and  that  Greek  culture  in  its  purity, 
with  its  logic,  its  poise,  its  self-restraint,  will  never 
again  be  the  controlling  factor  in  life.  It  is  an 
illusion  to  allow  one's  self  to  believe  that  small 
stones  are  accountable  for  this  expression  of  de- 
generacy, which,  rather,  must  be  traced  directly 
to  the  thought  of  the  age. 

As  for  illusions,  there  are  two  sorts  for  us  to 
[101] 


consider:  The  so-called  optical,  that  is  where  a 
faulty  impression  is  carried  to  the  mind  through 
the  eye,  which,  because  of  its  natural  imperfection, 
distorts  physical  realities,  and  those  in  which  the 
mind  itself  is  responsible  for  a  distorted  mental  or 
.  .spiritual  vision.  We  have  had  the  matter  of  the 
entasis  in  mind  so  recently  that  I  shall  bear  upon 
that  detail  first.  I  register  here  and  now,  my  en- 
tire lack  of  sympathy  with  any  theory  which  would 
make  the  correction  of  optical  illusion  in  any 
fundamental  manner  responsible  for  the  lines 
which  appear  in  Greek  architecture,  very  espe- 
cially as  affecting  the  line  of  the  entasis.  It  may 
be  true  that,  as  is  often  stated,  the  parallel  bound- 
ing lines  of  a  cylindrical  column  seem  to  bow  in 
toward  each  other  and  so  produce  a  false  effect 
which  needs  correction.  Personally  I  do  not  be- 
lieve it,  and  especially  do  I  not  believe  it  in  rela- 
tion to  a  colonnade  of  cylinders;  for  there  is  as 
great  an  affinity  between  the  bounding  lines  of  the 
voids  as  of  the  solids,  which  would  of  itself  cor- 
rect the  illusion  did  it  tend  to  exist;  correct  it,  even 
could  not  the  aerial  perspective  be  counted  upon  to 
do  so.  The  curve  of  the  Greek  entasis  originally 
was  too  great,  and  always  too  subtle,  to  be  ac- 
counted for  by  any  such  theory.  It  can  have  but 
one  meaning:  it  is  the  aesthetic  expression  of  a 
vital  force  rising  in  conscious  power  to  meet  the 
[102] 


conflict;  concentrating,  as  is  indicated  by  the  les- 
sening diameters,  as  it  approaches  the  point  where, 
having  gained  poise  and  self-control,  it  expands  to 
the  resilient,  masculine  echinus  of  the  Doric  or  the 
yielding  and  graceful,  though  no  less  potent,  femi- 
nine volute  of  the  Ionic.  That,  to  me,  is  a  truer 
explanation  than  is  the  correction  of  optical  illu- 
sion. The  slightly  crowning  curves  of  the  stylo- 
bate  and  the  entablature  are  the  aesthetic  expres- 
sion of  a  noble  idea  rather  than  the  attempt  to  cor- 
rect a  theoretical  illusion,  which  did  it  tend  to 
exist  would  be  corrected  by  its  surroundings.  A 
long  straight  horizontal  line  seems  to  sag.  That 
is  the  theory.  The  illusion  is  supposed  to  be  cor- 
rected by  giving  the  line  a  slight  curve  upward. 
A  long  straight  line  connecting  the  ends  of  a  num- 
ber of  parallel  lines  seems  to  bend  toward  those 
lines,  and  so  there  is  a  theory  that  the  Greeks 
crowned  the  entablature  not  only  to  offset  the  de- 
pressing effect  of  the  raking  lines  of  the  pediment, 
but  to  overcome  the  dished  effect  which  would  be 
produced  in  the  entablature  by  the  series  of  col- 
umns rising  to  support  it.  But  if  the  vertical  lines 
of  the  columns  seem  to  pull  the  entablature  down- 
ward toward  the  center,  why  do  they  not  seem  to 
draw  the  stylobate  upward  and  so  counteract  the 
seeming  sag  in  that  feature?  In  reality,  as  touch- 
ing optical  illusion,  the  effect  of  the  columns  upon 
[103] 


the  entablature  need  not  be  taken  into  account, 
for  the  columns  by  their  very  design  have  so 
marked  an  effect  of  pushing  upward  that  they 
could  not  produce  at  the  same  time  the  effect  of 
pulling  downward.  This  same  upward  tendency 
in  the  columns,  massive  and  powerful  though 
they  be,  prevents  them  from  seeming  to  crush  the 
stylobate.  The  strong  man  in  action  does  not 
seem  to  crush  the  platform  upon  Which  he  stands 
when  he  raises  the  weights  in  the  air.  The  crown- 
ing of  the  stylobate  and  the  entablature  must, 
then,  have  been  done  to  conserve  the  effect  of 
unity;  to  give  from  the  ground  up  in  all  the 
parts  expression  to  that  aspiration,  that  tendency 
and  will  to  ascend  which  is  deep  rooted  in  man's 
nature.  Nor  was  it  to  correct  an  optical  illusion 
of  spreading  that  the  axes  of  the  columns  were 
inclined  inward  so  as  to  meet  at  a  point  high  above 
the  earth,  but,  rather,  to  enhance  the  sublime 
effect  of  unity  which  is  a  psychological  character- 
istic of  the  pyramidal  form.  The  Egyptian  used 
the  form  to  minister  to  the  craving  for  bodily 
immortality,  the  Greeks  to  gain  the  effect  of 
spiritual  unity  and  in  that  way  achieve  deathless- 
ness.  The  Greeks  well  knew  the  effects  of  inter- 
acting lines  and  contours,  but  they  employed  their 
architectural  forms  with  deeper  meaning  and  pur- 
pose than  to  correct  optical  illusion  merely. 
[104] 


When  it  comes  to  the  matter  of  auto-illusion 
we  are  encountering  a  very  serious  phase  of  the 
subject.  This  operation  of  the  mind  upon  itself  is 
not  confined  to  artists;  it  exists  among  certain 
critics  and  philosophizers  on  art.  The  processes 
of  art,  to  use  a  homely  parallel,  are  not  unlike  the 
processes  of  intensive  agriculture,  where  to  be  suc- 
cessful the  nature  of  the  seed,  of  the  soil,  of  the 
fertilizer  must  be  known  and  understood.  Where 
would  the  world  of  science,  of  economics,  of  phi- 
losophy, and  for  that  matter,  of  art,  have  stood 
today  had  the  real  workers  in  these  fields  left  the 
direction  of  affairs  to  an  outside  spirit  which  sup- 
posedly could  be  depended  upon  to  bring  order 
out  of  chaos?  The  artist  or  the  philosophizer 
who  maintains  that  art  is  purely  a  temperamental 
expression  unrelated  to  the  solid  facts  of  life,  and 
that  the  "  world  soul  "  will  direct  the  course  and 
produce  the  national  and  racial  embodiments,  is 
cherishing  a  fatal  illusion.  Why  the  philoso- 
phizer should  take  this  attitude  I  know  not; 
but  the  artist  who  assumes  it  does  so  to  excuse  his 
own  lack  of  mental  and  moral  force.  "  Artist ! 
know  thyself,  the  life  about  thee,  and  thy  relation 
to  it — "  is  a  good  injunction  to  be  followed  by 
one  who  wishes  to  be  a  factor  in  the  ultimate 
achievement  of  national  and  racial  ideals. 

[105] 


VII 

THE  SIGNIFICANCE  OF  MASS 
AND   FORM 


[io8] 


THE  SIGNIFICANCE  OF  MASS 
AND   FORM 

MASS,  as  mass  merely,  makes  to  the  mind 
an  appeal  quite  independent  of  form  or 
of  defining  line.  Many  a  huge  archi- 
tectural pile  compels  by  its  sheer  bulk,  as  does  a 
mountain  or  other  vast  object  in  nature,  altogether 
irrespective  of  the  subtler  message  carried  by  the 
outline  or  by  the  characteristic  forms  within  the 
mass  when  such  it  may  contain.  Mere  size,  for 
itself,  is  a  very  minor  if  not  unworthy  architec- 
tural adjunct.  No  work  of  art  ever  was  great 
because  of  its  immensity;  but  it  is  great  because 
of  the  form  to  which  the  mass,  large  or  small, 
was  shaped.  The  distinction  between  greatness 
and  great  size  should  be  clear  in  the  mind.  The 
great  Pyramids  do  impress  by  their  very  bulk, 
but  it  is  the  form  which  has  carried  their  message 
down  through  the  ages.  The  immense  religious 
structures  of  the  mediaeval  period  impress  us  by 
their  size,  but  it  is  their  form  which  inspires  in 
us  the  deep  heartfelt  emotionalism  which  exalts 

[  109] 


us  while  in  their  presence.  Without  the  form  the 
mass  would  be  inert  and  dead.  The  temples  of 
Greece  are,  comparatively,  not  great  in  size,  but 
there  is  a  largeness  of  spirit  in  their  form  which 
is  almost  overpowering  in  its  intellectual  appeal. 
It  is  with  the  effect  of  mass  as  characterized  and 
defined  by  line  and  form  that  this  chapter  has  to 
deal. 

The  appeal  of  art  is  directly  to  the  emotions. 
This  does  not  greatly  limit  the  field  of  art,  for 
emotionalism  is  varied  and  manifold  in  its  content 
and  in  the  possibilities  of  its  expression.  There 
is  the  emotionalism  of  faith — of  aspiration; 
there  is  the  emotionalism  of  reason  —  of  intel- 
lectual satisfaction.  These  are  the  extremes  in 
emotional  reaction  and  between  them  lies  a  great 
range.  Each  is  ministered  to  and  stirred  into  ac- 
tivity by  forms  for  which  the  mind,  racially  domi- 
nated or  individually  controlled,  holds  an  affinity. 
Thus,  the  mediaeval  man  would  be  thrown  into 
an  ecstasy  of  spiritual  exaltation  through  gazing 
upon  masses  vertically  disposed  and  dominated 
by  lines  ever  ascending  and  forms  intermingling 
and  mutually  sustaining  and  inspiring.  The  Greek 
would  be  stirred  to  the  depths  of  his  nature,  in 
a  manner  just  as  truly  emotional,  by  contempla- 
tion of  masses  so  disposed  horizontally  as  to 
arrest  and  crown  the  ascending  spirit  and  confer 
[no] 


upon  the  object  the  charm  of  sweet  reasonableness 
and  intellectual  restraint.  The  Greek  would  be 
powerless  to  fathom  the  uncontrolled  spiritual 
emotionalism  of  the  mediaeval  man,  while  the  lat- 
ter would  gain  small  satisfaction  from  the  poised 
intellectual  emotions  of  the  Greek.  Can  the  mod- 
ern mind  fully  comprehend  and  find  complete 
satisfaction  in  either  of  these  great  manifesta- 
tions? Unless  modernism  can  spend  itself  in  an 
ecstasy  of  faith  like  that  of  medievalism  or  can 
practice  the  self-restraint,  submit  naturally  and 
gracefully  to  the  keen  intellectual  discipline  and 
attain  to  the  high  idealism  of  the  Greek,  it  is 
quite  apparent  how  futile  it  were  to  seek  now  to 
express  the  ununified  and  involved  modern  condi- 
tions by  any  return  in  their  purity  to  mediaeval 
or  Greek  forms  in  art.  That  the  modern  age  may 
know  how  to  express  itself  and  to  interpret  its 
own  spirit  in  terms  of  art  it  is  desirable  and  alto- 
gether necessary  that  it  not  only  should  know  and 
comprehend  itself  but  should  understand  the  sig- 
nificance of  the  forms  which  art  must  use  in  its 
interpretation.  There  should,  for  instance,  be  in 
the  mind  a  clear  conception  of  the  significance  of 
horizontality  and  verticality  and  a  full  recogni- 
tion of  the  distinct  psychological  appeal  of  each. 
One  should  disabuse  himself  of  the  conception, 
if  it  be  held,  for  it  is  a  misconception  arising 


through  misinformation  or  superficial  observation, 
that  horizontality  or  verticality,  as  carrying  each 
its  own  peculiar  message  through  mass,  is  in  any 
way  related  to  or  dependent  upon  the  contour  or 
physical  formation  of  the  earth's  surface.  One 
hears  advanced  not  infrequently  the  theory  that 
a  long  low  horizontal  disposition  of  masses  is  par- 
ticularly appropriate  to  a  level  or  prairie  country, 
while  a  vertically  disposed  mass  harmonizes  with 
a  broken,  hilly,  or  mountainous  environment. 
Horizontality  and  verticality  are  purely  psycho- 
logical in  their  bearing  and  carry  each  its  own 
peculiar  emotional  appeal  whatever  may  be  the 
nature  of  the  physical  surroundings.  As  indi- 
cated above,  the  extremes  of  emotional  appeal 
are  to  intellectual  poise  on  the  one  hand  and  to 
spiritual  ecstasy  on  the  other.  The  mass  which 
makes  the  appeal  calling  forth  the  intellectual 
response  is  characterized  by  horizontality.  The 
mass  which  incites  to  an  ecstatic  state  is  distin- 
guished by  verticality.  If,  then,  the  horizontal 
form  and  line  appeal  to  and  superinduce  the  feel- 
ing of  restraint  and  restfulness,  as  they  do,  then 
this  will  be  the  effect  produced  by  the  horizontally 
designed  structure  whether  it  be  among  the  hills 
or  upon  the  prairie.  If  the  element  of  verticality 
be  introduced  to  stimulate  into  emotional  activity 
the  mind  which  inclines  to  rebel  against  the  re- 
[112] 


straint  of  a  purely  horizontal  composition,  the 
effect  will  follow  whether  the  building  be  upon  the 
prairie  or  among  the  hills.  The  appeal  of  mass 
as  defined  by  its  larger  outline  depends  on  the 
natural  surroundings,  reacting  directly  as  those 
natural  surroundings  may  have  affected  the  forma- 
tion of  the  racial  instincts  and  attributes  in  man; 
as  they  may  have  sensitized  the  mind  of  man 
and  rendered  him  more  susceptible  to  the  appeal 
of  certain  forms  through  the  age-long  contact  of 
his  ancestors  with  those  forms  and  surroundings. 
Through  such  reaction  do  we  account  for  the  uni- 
fied mind  of  Egypt  and  her  particular  racial  char- 
acteristics ;  so  do  we  account  for  the  unified  mind 
and  manners,  the  unified  mental  and  spiritual 
attitude  and  customs,  of  all  the  great  races  of  the 
past;  so  may  we  in  large  measure  account  for  the 
heterogeneity  and  want  of  unity  in  thought  and 
idealism  in  our  own  race  today.  The  physical 
characteristics  of  the  earth,  whether  it  be  level, 
like  the  prairie  and  the  sand-swept  plain,  or 
broken  with  verdure-clad  hills  or  rugged  moun- 
tains, and  these  under  either  the  clear  sunny  skies 
of  the  south  or  the  broken  and  cloudy  skies  of 
the  north,  influence  the  defining  form  of  the  archi- 
tectural mass  just  as  they  influence  differently  the 
character  and  predilections  of  the  race  of  humans 
inhabiting  a  level  or  a  broken  district  under  a 
[113] 


A  LEVEL  COUNTRY-     PYRAMIDAL  FORMS 


B  BROKEN  COUNTRY-  CUBIFORM  MASSES 


1O  SUNM SKIES-  FORMS  SIMPLE  J 


A  LEVEL  COUNTRY-     PYRAMIDAL  FORMS 


B  BROKEM  COUNTRY-    CUBIFORM  MASSES 

j  4 1 1  CLOUDY  SKIES-  FORMS  BROKEN  J 

-2  __  r 


clear  or  a  clouded  sky.  Generalizing  broadly  we 
may  say  that  a  level  country  calls  for  a  distinctly 
pyramidal  architecture,  while  a  broken  or  moun- 
tainous country  demands  a  distinctly  cubiform 
type.  Architectural  masses  under  clear  sunny 
skies  tend  toward  simplicity;  while  under  cloudy, 
broken  skies  the  masses  become  broken  and  pic- 
turesque (Figs.  10  A-B  and  n  A-B).  This  is  in 
obedience  to  a  law  of  harmony  which  is  basic  in 
nature;  but  harmony  does  not  mean  monotony, 
nor  does  it  preclude  variety.  Rather  it  demands 
variety,  and  nature's  constant  effort  has  been  to 
produce  infinite  variety  from  the  simple  cell  with 
which,  or  with  a  multiplicity  of  which,  she  might 
have  rested  content ;  but  higher  development  means 
variety  rather  than  multiplicity.  Hence,  contrast- 
ing masses  into  which  the  broad  level  sweep  may 
merge  by  steps  of  ready  transition,  and  not  masses 
echoing  its  essential  nature,  are  demanded  by  the 
plain.  These  masses  within  themselves  may  be 
dominated  by  the  vertical  or  by  the  horizontal 
principle ;  that  will  depend  entirely  upon  the  men- 
tal and  spiritual  attitude  of  the  races  which  shape 
the  forms.  And  so,  too,  the  rounded  forms  of  the 
hills  or  the  peaked  tops  of  the  mountains  call  for 
the  cube  for  contrast  and  variety;  and  a  really 
sensitive  race  will  answer  that  call  in  the  spirit 
in  which  it  is  sent,  and  this  without  regard  as  to 
[ix6] 


whether  the  forms  within  the  cubical  mass  are  to 
appeal  to  spiritual  emotionalism  or  intellectual 
restraint  or  to  sentiments  and  passions  in  the  wide 
field  of  human  desire  and  aspiration  which  lies 
between.1 

We  are,  in  these  pages,  dealing  specifically  with 
the  arts  which  have  for  their  medium  of  expres- 
sion material  defined  by  mass,  form,  color,  and 
line,  and  the  properties  and  qualities  appertain- 
ing thereto.  I  may  use  to  advantage  the  pictorial 
art,  albeit  diagrammatically,  to  explain  the  mean- 
ing and  effect  of  horizontality  and  verticality  and 
to  note  them  as  reflected  in  the  attitude  and  bear- 
ing of  the  sensitive  body  of  a  sympathetic  ob- 
server. This  manner  of  presentation  may  be 
more  effective  than  a  statement  of  the  proposition 
in  words.  Let  us  observe  (Fig.  I2-A)  a  man 

1  Reproductions  of  drawings  by  M.  Esperandieu,  archi- 
tect, appearing  many  years  ago  in  an  architectural 
journal  under  the  suggestive  title  "The  Ethnology  of 
Architectural  Forms,"  deeply  stirred  my  imagination  and 
quickened  my  curiosity  in  the  early  days  of  my  apprentice- 
ship when  I  was  just  beginning  to  comprehend  the  real 
meaning  of  architecture.  I  do  not  know  whether  the  plates 
were  from  a  book  or  whether  they  were  in  the  nature  of 
laboratory  notes.  However,  they  gave  me  a  clue  I  had 
been  seeking  and  which  1  have  since  followed  up  with  pleas- 
ure and  profit.  I  gladly  acknowledge  a  long  standing  in- 
debtedness to  M.  Esperandieu  whose  work  I  have  used  as  a 
basis  in  illustrating  several  points  in  this  chapter. 


•j       -  , 


THE  PSYCHOLOGICAL  EFFECT  OF 
HORIZONTALITYANDVERTICALITY 

[118] 


before  a  vertical  composition.  The  feet  lightly 
resting  on  the  earth  maintain  the  body  in  delicate 
balance;  the  hands  feel  the  influence  of  the  as- 
cending spirit  and  are  ready  to  make  upward  ges- 
ture; the  head  is  thrown  back  so  that  the  glance 
may  go  aloft  freely.  Again  (Fig.  I2-B),  we  see 
a  man  in  contemplative  attitude  before  a  building 
dominated  by  the  horizontal  principle.  The  feet 
are  planted  firmly  on  the  ground,  the  arms  are  at 
rest,  the  head  is  squarely  upon  the  shoulders;  the 
whole  pose  is  one  indicative  of  poise  and  complete 
intellectual  understanding.  These  two  illustra- 
tions are  more  than  diagrams  in  the  strict  sense; 
they  are  pictures  harmoniously  composed,  with 
careful  selection  as  to  content.  The  laws  of  unity 
and  purpose  have  been  observed  and  the  effect  in 
each  case  is  that  of  harmony.  This  effect  would 
be  completely  destroyed  were  the  human  figures 
in  the  pictures  to  be  transposed.  Neither  man 
could  maintain  the  particular  mental  attitude  ex- 
pressed in  the  lines  of  his  body  in  the  presence 
of  the  other  object;  and  to  draw  him  so,  except 
to  illustrate  a  point,  would  argue  a  want  of  aes- 
thetic intelligence  on  the  part  of  the  artist. 

The  art  instinct  has  loosely  been  denominated 

the  sixth  sense.    Art,  however,  makes  no  demand 

upon  a  sixth  sense,  nor  does  it  call  for  the  occult, 

nor  for  the  abstruse  in  its  every-day  appreciation 

[119] 


C          '  D 

i^  13   RACIAL  CHARACTERISTICS      l|j 


and  application.  Art  is  for  the  race  —  for  all 
and  not  for  the  elect  merely  —  and  all  that  the 
race  has  shown  itself  capable  of  comprehending 
or  of  expressing  can  be  apprehended  by  the  five 
senses  and  expressed  in  terms  of  three  dimensions. 
What  we  need  now  is  to  put  into  active  operation 
our  powers  of  observation  and  our  power  of  ex- 
pressing in  three  dimensions,  aided  by  those  same 
five  senses.  This  is  not  all  we  need;  for  to  pro- 
duce or  to  appreciate  great  art  we  must  add  spirit- 
ual insight,  without  which  the  form  and  its  sig- 
nificance cannot  be  really  comprehended.  It  takes 
a  sympathetic  insight  into  human  life  to  recognize 
the  working  of  that  law  which  impels  the  human 
mind  to  express  itself  in  those  forms  for  which 
the  evolution  of  racial  characteristics  has  given 
it  an  instinctive  affinity.  This  working  is  more 
readily  observed  and  more  easily  recorded  where 
the  particular  race  has  achieved  a  unity  of  nature 
and  a  harmonious  expression,  whether  through 
racial  strength  and  vitality  or  through  compara- 
tive isolation.  Let  us  observe  a  few  characteris- 
tic examples  of  racial  lines  and  expression,  com- 
paring the  physiognomy  and  the  character  of  the 
garb  with  the  masses  and  details  of  the  architec- 
ture (Fig.  I3-A-B-C-D).  Such  comparison  will 
convince  us  that  to  produce  in  each  case  this  strik- 
ing harmony  the  racial  artist-historian  must  have 
[xai] 


chosen  forms  with  which  he  was  by  nature  and 
environment  sympathetic,  must  have  discarded 
others,  and,  in  reflecting  so  closely  what  evolution 
had  so  clearly  stamped  on  things  about  him,  must 
knowingly  have  expressed  the  highest  ideals  of  his 
time  and  race.  We  must  grant  that  the  selection 
was  made  with  design,  that  is,  knowingly,  or  the 
product  would  be  nature,  not  art;  was  made  with 
design,  otherwise  all  architecture,  well-nigh  all 
art,  would  fall  into  the  category  of  Emerson's 
"temples,"  which  u  grew  as  grows  the  grass." 

"  Nature  gladly  gave  them  place 
Adopted  them  into  her  race 
And  granted  them  an  equal  date 
With  Andes  and  with  Ararat." 

I  confess  my  poetical  limitations;  but  as  a  humble 
worker  in  the  greatest  of  the  arts  and  a  sincere 
student  of  the  manner  and  media  of  architectural 
expression,  I  protest  that  art  transcends  nature, 
so  far  as  humanity  is  concerned,  for  art  is  an  ex- 
pression of  the  ideals  of  humanity;  and  if  the 
poet  finds  the  realization  fit  to  rank  with  the  won- 
derful manifestations  of  nature's  spirit,  it  argues 
the  greatness  of  the  spirit  of  humanity,  or  in  other 
words  the  human  mind,  rather  than  an  unreason- 
ing or  unconscious  obedience  to  purely  natural 
laws.  That  the  spirit  of  the  time  was  working 

[122] 


14     THE  RACE  SPRIT 

r^n 


D 

Jg 


through  the  artist  there  is  no  doubt.  How  potent 
this  spirit  is  may  be  suggested  by  placing  in  juxta- 
position an  idealized  characterization  of  the 
human  quality  of  an  age  and  an  epitome  of  its 
contemporary  architectural  expression.  We  may 
recognize  (Fig.  I4-A)  the  spirit  of  Egypt,  with 
its  characteristic  forms  crystallized  and  its  man- 
ner unvaried  through  the  ages.  We  may  gain 
(Fig.  14-6)  a  definite  impression  of  the  Greek 
spirit,  of  calm  intellectual  poise  and  emotional 
restraint  and  its  expression.  Again  (Fig.  I4-C), 
we  may  evidence  the  working  of  that  spirit  of 
fanaticism  and  cruelty  which  marked  the  mediae- 
val period.  These  are  great  periods  marked  by 
grandeur  of  expression;  but  the  spirit  of  the  lesser 
periods  works  through  humanity  and  its  art  just 
as  surely  and  relentlessly.  Glance,  for  instance 
(Fig.  I4-D),  at  that  debased  period  of  the  Ren- 
aissance and  its  art  known  as  the  "  periwig  and 
pigtail."  This  is  a  real  interpretation  of  the 
spirit  of  that  time,  and  while  it  is  unlovely  it  is 
accurate.  In  another  chapter  I  shall  have  cause 
to  consider  if  certain  unlovely  interpretations 
which  set  themselves  up  to  portray  our  own  age 
and  time  are  equally  searching,  or  if,  as  we  may 
hope,  they  are  but  momentary  impressions  gained 
through  a  distorted  lens. 

We  find  a  field  not  altogether  devoid  of  interest 
[124] 


when  we  leave  these  wider  ranges  of  thought  and 
come  to  study  in  detail  the  significance  of  certain 
simple  geometric  figures  and  forms.  We  have 
noted  already  quite  at  length  the  appeal  of  the 
pyramid.  The  triangle  upon  which  it  is  based 
carries  in  one  plane  a  less  complete  message  of 
unity,  of  inflexibility,  or  of  permanence,  as  the 
case  may  be.  Let  us  now  take  up  in  turn  the  circle 
from  which  proceeds  the  sphere,  and  the  square 
from  which  is  derived  the  cube.  The  sphere  pre- 
sents the  fullest  symbol  of  completion.  Nothing 
can  be  added  or  subtracted  and  leave  the  form 
perfect.  It  is  cold  and  lifeless  in  its  very  com- 
pleteness. Architecturally  the  features  related 
to  it  are  the  arch  and  the  dome.  The  dome 
carries  a  note  of  finality.  In  semicircular  form  it 
neither  incites  to  spiritual  emotionalism  nor  com- 
mands intellectual  poise.  The  eye  following  its 
form  is  brought  back  without  interruption  to  the 
plane  in  which  the  movement  started.  The  result 
is  pessimistic;  the  effort  is  wasted.  This  form 
of  dome  is  made  to  crown  the  tombs  of  those  races 
whose  philosophy  is  "  what  will  be,  will  be  "  and 
with  whom  death  is  annihilation  or  Nirvana;  it 
appeals  to  this  sentiment  and  performs  this  func- 
tion admirably  (Fig.  13-6).  We  of  the  West- 
ern World  feel  this  and  use  the  form  to  crown 
our  courthouses  and  museums,  the  latter  of  which 

[125] 


we,  until  very  recently,  have  considered  to  be  the 
final  resting  places  of  stuffed  specimens  or  of 
dead  art.  The  dome  has  its  legitimate  province 
as  an  expression  of  domination,  and  is  so  employed, 
imitatively,  on  our  statehouses;  but  is  not  this  ex- 
pression a  perversion  and  an  anomaly  in  a  demo- 
cratic state?  When  the  nature  of  our  courthouses 
and  museums  and  statehouses  is  really  appre- 
hended and  our  aesthetic  sense  and  common  sense 
demand  that  these  buildings  function  for  the  liv- 
ing humanity  which  surges  through  them  with  all 
its  vital  problems,  the  dome  will  disappear  as  a 
dominating  feature,  and  the  walls  will  cease  to 
be  masked  with  misunderstood  and  unrelated 
architectural  forms.  The  dome  appears  upon 
many  of  our  modern  so-called  Christian  church 
edifices;  but,  as  with  the  statehouse,  this  is  a  per- 
version. The  religion  of  goodness  does  not  ex- 
press its  true  self  in  this  form:  only  the  religion 
of  power  does  this,  and  such  a  religion  has  no 
reason  for  being  in  this  altruistic  and  humani- 
tarian age.  The  dome  seems  to  have  been  em- 
ployed as  the  crowning  feature  of  the  church 
edifice  before  ever  the  form  was  applied  to  the 
statehouse.  The  transition  came  about  very  nat- 
urally as  the  Church  began  to  assert  authority 
in  affairs  of  State,  reaching  out  beyond  its  self- 
assumed  dictatorship  in  the  realm  of  the  spiritual 
[126] 


to  grasp  political  power  in  matters  temporal.  The 
dome  is  not  a  form  through  which  the  spirit  of  a 
true  democracy  can  express  itself. 

The  dome  as  a  minor  feature,  however,  and 
broken  in  line,  has  a  use  today  in  giving  pictur- 
esque contrast  to  other  forms  and  in  making  a 
poetic  appeal;  in  this  it  is  potent,  the  dome  being 
a  development  of  the  arch,  which  is  the  most 
emotionally  poetic  line  in  architectural  composi- 
tion. The  pointed  arch  does  not  bring  the  aspir- 
ing thought  back  to  earth  unsatisfied,  but  bids  it 
follow  the  rising  forces  in  the  clustered  piers 
ever  on  and  upward  into  the  wide  high  spaces  of 
the  imagination.  The  pointed  arch  was  not  a 
structural  expedient,  but  rather  the  poetic  builder's 
practical  answer  to  the  prayer  of  a  great  humanity 
which  asked  in  deepest  sincerity  for  some  mate- 
rial form  of  expression  for  the  bursting  emotion- 
alism of  its  spirit.  That  the  answer  was  full  and 
complete  no  one  who  is  sensitive  to  the  message 
of  form  can  deny.  The  semicircular  arch,  used 
by  the  builders  of  the  Romanesque  and  the  archi- 
tects of  today  to  span  a  succession  of  voids,  im- 
parts the  feeling  of  movement  and  rhythm,  intro- 
duces the  element  of  poetry,  and  is  freed  from 
that  feeling  of  pessimism  which  is  apt  to  accom- 
pany it  when  used  singly  and  upon  a  large  scale. 
When  used  in  the  North  the  semicircular  arch 
[127] 


sprang  from  a  great  mass  or  buttress,  which 
tended  to  emphasize  the  rising  character  of  the 
forces  within;  but  in  Italy  and  the  South  the  feel- 
ing for  horizontality  was  so  firmly  established  that 
even  the  arch,  pointed,  semicircular,  or  segmental, 
lent  itself  to  the  horizontal  scheme  of  design  which 
was  under  the  circumstances  inevitable.  The 
arches  spring  lightly  from  shaft  to  shaft  and  the 
spreading  tendency  is  curbed  by  a  tie  rod,  so  that 
the  arch  becomes  the  upper  chord  of  a  bowstring 
girder,  and  we  have  the  post  and  beam  system 
in  another  form,  with  the  compression  and  tension 
visualized.  This  form  of  architecture  is  per- 
fectly frank,  straightforward,  and  justifiable,  but 
it  lacks  the  high  idealism  of  the  Greek,  or  the  bold 
imagination  of  the  mediaeval. 

The  perfect  cube  is  the  most  refractory  form 
in  art  and  often  is  employed  for  contrast  with 
yielding  or  flowing  lines.  This  contrast  is  re- 
quired by  that  law  which  demands  variety,  variety 
in  mass  and  form  as  well  as  variety  in  sentiment 
and  feeling.  The  dentils  which  break  the  simple 
forms  into  masses  of  light  and  shade  virtually 
are  cubes.  Nothing  could  be  more  refractory 
or  of  slighter  imaginative  appeal  than  the  cube 
with  all  its  corners  rectangular,  with  all  its  lines 
of  equal  length,  all  its  surfaces  equal  squares. 
It  symbolizes  better  than  any  other  geometrical 
[128] 


figure  that  concentrated  resistance  which  a  force 
has  to  meet  in  order  to  develop  within  itself  a 
supreme  ideality,  a  beautiful  and  complete  char- 
acter. So  it  was  used,  slightly  modified,  in  the 
abacus  of  the  Doric  capital;  not  as  filling  a  struc- 
tural want,  but,  as  we  have  seen,  an  utterance  of 
that  powerful  something  which  was  necessary  to 
the  wonderfully  expressed  relationship  between 
column  and  entablature,  to  the  perfect  proportion 
of  the  shaft  and  the  exquisite  line  of  the  echinus. 
Not  only  did  the  echinus  function  against  this 
refractory  object,  but  through  it  character  entered 
into  the  form,  as  will  be  noted  in  the  final  chapter, 
where  the  cube  and  square  are  further  and  more 
fully  discussed. 


[129] 


VIII 

THE  ELEMENT  OF  RHYTHM 


[132] 


THE  ELEMENT  OF  RHYTHM 


ARCHITECTURE,  whether  it  be  considered 
merely  as  an  affair  of  abstract  aesthetics, 
or  regarded  in  the  higher  light  of  spirit- 
ual symbolism  in  aesthetic  terms,  depends  in  large 
measure  for  its  emotional  appeal  upon  the  essen- 
tial element  of  rhythm.  Before  the  psychological 
bearing  of  mass  and  form  had  impressed  itself 
upon  the  intelligence,  before  the  mind  had  even 
subconsciously  yielded  to  the  influence  of  mass  and 
form,  rhythm  had  been  making  its  persistent  ap- 
peal to  the  emotions.  The  first  idea  or  want  or 
desire  of  the  infant  is  expressed  in  terms  of  move- 
ment. The  spasmodic  workings  of  arms  and  legs 
and  trunk  are  at  first  the  subconscious  and  then 
the  altogether  conscious  manifestation  of  an  in- 
dwelling spirit  and  an  awakening  will.  As  the 
desire  begins  to  take  definite  shape  in  the  infant 
mind,  the  movement  is  controlled  and  directed 
toward  its  prescribed  end.  The  parts  begin  to 
function  as  nature  has  appointed;  the  arms  to  push 
[i33] 


or  to  pull,  at  first  generally  to  pull,  the  hands 
to  grasp,  and  after  a  longer  period  the  legs  to 
uphold  the  trunk  and  the  feet  to  maintain  the  body 
in  equilibrium.  As  the  passion  to  reach  the  object 
of  its  desire  develops  in  the  child,  the  legs  are 
called  upon  to  transport  the  body  to  the  point  at 
which  the  arms  and  hands  can  function  readily. 
In  the  first  stage  the  infant  crawls,  using  both  arms 
and  legs  as  means  of  locomotion,  a  correlation  in- 
tended by  nature  evidently,  for  even  after  the  legs 
and  feet  have  been  trained  fully  and  properly  to 
function,  the  arms  and  hands  continue  to  act  with 
them,  as  does  the  trunk  also,  in  sympathetic  and 
coordinated  movement.  The  mechanics  of  loco- 
motion once  mastered,  the  normal  child  immedi- 
ately and  consciously,  from  the  very  joy  and  ex- 
hilaration of  it,  introduces  the  element  of  rhythm. 
He  does  not  analyze  the  movement  when  he  hops, 
skips,  dances,  and  shortens  and  lengthens  his 
steps,  and  say  to  himself  that  he  is  producing 
rhythm,  but  he  is  conscious  that  he  is  doing  some- 
thing which  is  altogether  remote  from  and  which 
transcends  mere  locomotion;  and  the  fact  remains 
that  'he  is  producing  rhythm.  In  hopping  and 
skipping  and  contorting  the  child  is  but  following 
natural  impulses,  in  indulging  which  he  gains 
pleasure.  By  and  by  he  begins  to  perceive  the 
real  meaning  and  essence  of  rhythm  and  em- 
[134] 


ploys  it  as  a  means  of  creating  and  imparting  a 
sensation  or  an  emotion;  and  at  that  point  he 
enters  the  domain  of  art.  Here  it  is  that  the 
subject  relates  itself  to  architecture.  The  dance 
is  said  to  have  been  the  first  fully  developed  form 
of  aesthetic  expression,  and  from  it  in  order  pro- 
ceeded music,  acting,  and  poetry.  The  next  oldest 
form  of  art,  developing  quite  possibly  contem- 
poraneously with  the  earlier  form,  was  architec- 
ture, from  which  proceeded  sculpture,  painting, 
and  the  arts  of  design.  That  architecture  and  the 
dance  were  the  primary  arts  and  that  they  devel- 
oped contemporaneously  is  altogether  conceiv- 
able to  one  who  comprehends  the  nature  of  these 
arts.  Architecture  has  been  analyzed  in  the  pre- 
ceding pages;  let  us  now  contemplate  the  dance, 
a  something  which  transcends  locomotion  as  archi- 
tecture transcends  building.  In  walking,  and  it  is 
the  same  after  the  art  has  been  acquired  in  all 
its  perfection,  the  body  is  allowed  to  fall  to  be 
caught  up  immediately  by  interposing  the  leg  be- 
tween it  and  the  ground.  The  foot  then  holds  the 
body  in  poise  until  again  it  is  allowed  to  fall, 
again  to  be  restrained  by  the  interposition  of  the 
other  leg,  and  so  on.  This  is  the  technique  of 
walking,  and  the  principle  holds  whatever  the  di- 
rection of  the  movement,  whether  forward,  back- 
ward, or  sidewise,  whether  the  body  be  lowered 
[135] 


or  raised.  The  leg  in  advance  does  not  pull  the 
body  to  it,  nor  does  the  leg  in  the  rear  push  the 
body  except  in  case  of  disease  or  decrepitude, 
never  in  normal  locomotion.  When  the  movement 
in  walking  is  normal  and  regular  no  peculiar  sen- 
sation is  gained  or  unusual  emotion  imparted,  but 
when  the  movement  is  retarded  or  accelerated  the 
attitude  of  mind  in  both  mover  and  beholder  is 
changed.  This  mental  attitude  is  complicated  and 
the  imparted  emotions  become  definite,  become 
complex  and  compelling,  when  an  ordered  relation- 
ship is  established  in  the  case  of  either  retarded 
or  accelerated  movement,  especially  when  there 
is  a  combination  of  retarded  and  accelerated 
movements  following  in  ordered  sequence.  The 
emotional  appeal  is  intensified  by  the  introduction 
of  rising  and  falling  movement,  that  is,  movement 
in  the  vertical  plane.  Upon  the  delicate  inter- 
action of  the  primal  elements  of  time  and  space 
all  rhythm  depends.  Distance  across  which  the 
mind  is  carried  at  a  certain  speed,  through  the  in- 
strumentality of  the  senses,  harmoniously  related 
to  other  distances  traversed  at  the  same  or  vary- 
ing rates  of  speed,  producing  melodic  intervals, 
is  the  source  of  rhythm.  In  the  dance,  as  in  music, 
these  intervals  are  marked  by  accented  beats;  in 
poetry  by  accented  syllables.  In  architecture  the 
intervals  are  marked  by  a  succession  of  solids  and 
[136] 


voids  or  by  a  succession  of  masses  brought  out  in 
relief  against  broader  masses,  or  by  details  har- 
moniously related  to  each  other  and  to  the  masses. 
The  most  impressive  and  dignified  of  all  rhythmic 
appeal,  that  which  imparts  the  feeling  of  intel- 
lectual poise  and  emotional  restraint,  is  achieved 
in  the  dance  by  the  slow-moving  processional  of 
formally  draped  figures;  in  music  by  the  succes- 
sion of  related  chords  recurring  at  slow  inter- 
vals ;  in  architecture  by  the  austere  and  unadorned 
colonnade.  To  produce  this  stately  character  in 
the  highest  degree,  the  units  of  the  composition 
must  in  themselves  be  dignified  and  stately  in  bear- 
ing and  be  such  as  shall  arrest  the  eye  or  the  ear 
and  hold  them  at  attention  for  the  desired  period 
of  time.  Emotionalism  will  be  enhanced,  at  the 
expense,  however,  of  intellectual  poise,  though 
great  power  and  dignity  will  still  obtain,  by  in- 
troducing gesture  or  varied  drapings  into  the 
dance;  by  symphonic  variations  on  the  theme  in 
music;  and,  in  architecture,  by  treating  more  freely 
the  accented  masses  in  form  or  in  detail;  by  in- 
troducing thematic  variations  into  the  voids  or 
into  the  mass  of  the  dominant  solids,  objectifying 
the  rhythmic  interplay  of  forces  within  the  mass. 
It  is  not  my  purpose  to  enter  into  an  extended 
discussion  of  the  philosophy  of  the  dance,  and  at- 
tention is  directed  to  it  only  that  the  fundamental 
[  137  I 


character  of  rhythm  may  the  more  forcibly  be 
impressed  upon  the  mind  through  an  appeal  to  an 
instinct  which  is  universal.  In  "  Monadnock,"  in 
which  he  penetrates  nature  with  deep  poetic 
analysis,  Emerson  says : 

"  For  the  world  was  built  in  order 
And  the  atoms  march  in  tune; 
Rhyme  the  pipe,  and  time  the  warder 
The  Sun  obeys  them,  and  the  Moon  " 

thus  indicating  "  how  the  chemic  eddies  play " 
and  declaring  the  fundamentality  of  rhythm  to 
cosmic  design,  construction,  and  conservation. 
The  stately  measures  of  the  dance  were  developed 
undoubtedly  in  response  to  religious  feelings,  and 
were  symbolic  of  religious  ideals;  and  so,  natu- 
rally, the  corresponding  architectural  expression, 
the  colonnade,  is  found  early  in  the  temples  of 
the  race.  More  clear  and  strong  and  harmonious 
was  the  expression  in  those  temples  built  by  races 
which  had  developed  a  clear-cut  and  definite  phi- 
losophy of  religion;  of  such  a  period,  for  example, 
as  that  of  the  Greeks.  The  emotional  and  intri- 
cate measures  of  the  dance  arose  in  response  to 
the  call  of  the  elemental  passions,  the  strongest 
and  most  effective  of  which  in  race  development 
was  love.  Thus  the  social  dance  and  the  domestic 
architecture  of  all  times  and  peoples,  including  the 
intellectual  Greek,  were  tinted  or  deeply  colored 
[138] 


by  emotionalism.  When  love  made  for  its  object 
of  worship  the  supernatural,  or  the  divine,  archi- 
tecture discarded  the  intellectual  orders  which  had 
graced  the  temples,  but,  conserving  the  power- 
ful rhythm  responding  to  deep  religious  emotion, 
shaped  its  embodying  forms  to  an  expression  of 
personal  and  individual  love  and  passion  magni- 
fied to  communal,  national,  or  racial  dimensions. 
The  dance,  even  as  a  religious  expression,  was 
sometimes  couched  in  the  forms  of  the  highest 
emotionalism,  and  this  was  especially  so  where 
fanaticism  overshadowed  the  religion  of  goodness. 
The  structure  of  the  highly  emotional  dance 
presents  itself  now  for  our  consideration  divorced 
for  the  time  from  its  occult  meaning  and  symbol- 
ism. The  body  sways  in  rhythmic  motion,  the 
arms  weave  in  harmony,  while  the  feet  touch  the 
ground  for  an  instant  with  springy  impact.  The 
feet  and  legs  conform  themselves  to  the  graceful 
lines  of  living  force,  changing  ever  as  the  body 
shifting  the  center  of  gravity  calls  upon  them  to 
maintain  it  in  equilibrium.  The  call  is  heeded, 
the  response  comes,  and  with  charm  and  grace 
and  power  the  rising  force  in  the  legs  meets  the 
force  of  gravity  acting  through  the  body.  When 
the  art  is  perfect  there  is  always  felt  and  imparted 
the  sense  of  perfect  poise,  of  the  perfect  adjust- 
ment of  parts,  such  as  is  seen  in  Greek  architec- 


ture.  In  the  dance  the  force  is  a  living  force  flow- 
ing through  living  form;  in  architecture  it  is  an 
inert  force  symbolized  in  fixed  though  subtle 
forms  which  convey  the  impression  of  rich  vitality. 
In  both  architecture  and  the  dance  rhythm  con- 
tributes vastly  to  the  essential  unity  of  the  whole. 
Although  not  generally  so  recognized,  tumbling  is 
an  exalted  form  of  the  emotional  dance,  not 
universally  practiced  because  of  the  seeming  diffi- 
culty of  acquiring  its  technique.  The  rhythm  is 
occult,  mysterious,  and  involved  as  compared  with 
the  dance  proper,  for  the  hands  and  arms  act  as 
supports,  alternating  ofttimes  with  the  feet  and 
legs  in  the  performance  of  that  function.  The 
impact  of  hands  and  feet  upon  the  ground  marks 
the  rhythmic  sequences,  corresponding  to  the 
solids  in  architecture,  while  the  body  in  revolu- 
tion or  in  convolution,  extended  or  contracted, 
fills  the  interspacing  with  thematic  variations 
which  define  the  rhythmic  character  and  quality  of 
the  composition.  In  the  Orient,  and  especially 
among  the  Moors  and  Arabs,  where  the  dance  is 
wholly  sensuous  in  its  appeal,  tumbling  bears  the 
same  relation  rhythmically  to  music  and  to  archi- 
tecture as  does  the  stately  processional  dance  to 
the  chorus  and  to  the  colonnaded  temples  of 
Greece,  or  as  does  the  gorgeous  and  picturesque 
procession  of  clerics  and  their  ministrants  and 
[  140] 


choir  to  the  musical  masses  and  to  the  emotionally 
imbued  piers  and  buttresses  of  the  mediaeval  cathe- 
dral. To  watch  understanding^  the  movements 
and  rhythm  of  a  troupe  of  Arab  tumblers  is  an 
education  in  racial  aesthetic  expression.  The 
rhythm  seemingly  is  the  sole  unifying  factor  in 
the  art.  The  solids  are  not  composed,  as  in  the 
mediaeval,  of  units  concentrating  their  social  and 
spiritual  forces,  but  rather  they  tend  to  fly  apart, 
the  units  taking  each  its  individual  line.  The 
curves  and  convolutions,  corresponding  to  the 
arches  of  their  structures,  are  broken  with  quirks 
and  twists  indicating  feverish  activity  and  lack  of 
poise.  In  the  "  pyramid  building,"  which  always 
accompanies  the  Arab's  acrobatic  exhibition,  un- 
stable equilibrium  is  demonstrated  in  the  highest 
degree  and  is  parallel  with  that  architectural 
motif  which  finds  expression  in  the  light  fairy 
shafts  of  the  columns  surmounted  by  heavily 
massed,  interlaced,  interpenetrating  arches.  The 
Arab  music  illustrates  the  same  racial  character- 
istics. I  have  amplified  this  in  an  essay,1  "  The 
Poetry  of  Motion,"  from  which  I  quote :  "  How 
a  movement  may  impart  its  character  is  demon- 
strated by  a  comparison  of  the  music  and  of  the 
tumbling  of  the  Oriental  and  the  Occidental  races. 
The  music  of  the  West  is  built  upon  an  eight-toned 
1  For  the  Chicago  Literary  Club,  1899. 
[141] 


scale  and  though  admitting  and  frequently  abound- 
ing in  transition  and  modulations,  yet  moves  ever 
with  definite  forward  flow.  And  so  with  the 
movement  in  Western  tumbling;  there  is  a  certain 
sinuosity,  but  in  general  the  feet  and  hands  touch 
the  ground  with  an  evenly  measured  rhythmic 
beat,  and  in  a  line  at  right  angles  to  the  general 
direction  of  the  movement,  be  it  forward  or  back- 
ward. The  Arabs  furnish  the  best  expression  of 
Oriental  art  in  music  and  tumbling.  The  music 
is  based  on  a  chromatic  scale  and  moves  in  broken 
rhythm  with  many  a  quirk  and  twist.  In  the  tum- 
bling of  the  Arab  there  is  hardly  a  movement 
directly  forward  or  backward,  but  the  sidewise 
movement  and  the  twist  predominate.  What  in 
the  West  would  be  a  long  gradual  sweep  is,  in 
the  East,  a  brilliant  succession  of  chromatic  runs. 
The  decorative  arts  of  the  East  and  of  the  West 
present  these  same  racial  characteristics."  Ara- 
bian architectural  forms  do  function  not  infre- 
quently, after  the  manner  we  have  been  discuss- 
ing; but  that  does  not  characterize  Arabian  archi- 
tecture to  any  extent,  while  complex  rhythm  does 
characterize  it  as  well  as  all  Arabian  art. 

Architectural  rhythm  is  not  confined  to  move- 
ment in  the  horizontal  plane,  but  it  expresses  itself 
in  the  vertical  plane  as  well.    It  is  not  enough  in 
an  architectural  composition  that  the  mind  should 
[142] 


be  carried  by  the  eye  from  pier  to  pier,  from  solid 
to  solid,  across  the  intervening  voids,  but  the  eye 
should  be  directed  upward  over  masses  just  as 
rhythmically  related,  leading  the  mind  in  rhyth- 
mic transition  from  the  bold  base  to  the  delicately 
flowering  crown.  In  a  perfect  composition  de- 
signed to  be  dominated  by  horizontality,  the  ver- 
tical movement  will  not  antagonize  or  destroy  the 
horizontal,  but  will  augument  the  desired  effect, 
while  in  vertically  dominated  compositions  the 
horizontal  movement  should  enrich  and  intensify 
the  vertical  expression.  This  law  will  be  found 
to  have  been  observed  in  all  truly  successful  ex- 
amples of  the  architectural  art.  The  study  of 
rhythmic  expression  is  fascinating.  Rhythm, 
itself,  in  architecture  as  in  poetry,  in  music,  in 
the  dance,  in  all  human  undertaking,  gives  char- 
acter, unifies  the  expression,  and  adds  zest  to  the 
joy  of  living. 


[i43l 


IX 

ON  SCULPTURE  AND   COLOR  IN 
ARCHITECTURE 


ON  SCULPTURE  AND   COLOR   IN 
ARCHITECTURE 

WERE  I  viewing  the  subjects  in  the  nar- 
rower aspect,  I  should  write  of  sculp- 
ture and  painting.  That  would  limit 
my  field,  however,  for  the  term  "  sculpture  "  as 
employed  in  the  chapter  heading  comprehends  not 
only  the  use  of  the  human  figure  symbolically  and 
decoratively,  but  includes  carvings  and  moldings 
used  after  the  same  manner ;  while  "color  "  includes 
not  only  mural  painting,  as  that  term  is  commonly 
understood,  and  surface  decoration,  but  also  takes 
into  consideration  the  value  and  possibilities  of 
color  as  a  qualifying  attribute  of  the  materials 
which  enter  integrally  into  the  structure.  For  the 
sake  of  clarity  and  convenience,  however,  I  shall 
use  "  sculpture  "  as  meaning  the  representation 
of  the  human  figure  in  relief  or  in  the  round,  and 
"  carving  "  or  "  carvings  "  as  referring  to  abstract 
or  conventional  forms  similarly  presented,  and  in 
either  case  whether  used  to  symbolize  force  or 
employed  purely  as  ornament. 
[i47] 


As  already  noted,  sculpture  was  used  in  two  dis- 
tinct manners  by  the  Greeks :  Interpretatively,  to 
enforce  the  character  of  the  building  as  in  the 
Caryatids  and  Atlantes;  and,  decoratively,  to  tell 
the  story  of  the  gods  in  pediment,  frieze,  and 
metope;  beautiful  beings  overcoming  influences 
which  seek  to  drag  them  down  or  which  seek 
rather  to  crush  them.  Let  us  consider  for  a  mo- 
ment the  former  manner.  The  Atlantes  appear 
in  the  Doric.  They  are  male  figures  expressing 
support.  They  are  in  high  relief  upon  the  faces 
of  heavy  piers  which  actually  do  the  supporting, 
while  the  figures  are  designed  to  interpret  the 
character  of  the  rising  force  —  in  this  case  to 
interpret  the  rugged  masculinity  of  the  Doric. 
This  is  a  truly  architectural  treatment  of  sculpture 
and  one  which  lends  itself  to  adaptations  seem- 
ingly never  utilized  by  the  Greeks  themselves.  I 
can  conceive  of  no  just  criticism  upon  the  use  of  the 
figure  as  herein  employed.  The  physical  structure 
of  the  male,  his  muscular  development  especially 
as  idealized  by  the  Greek,  made  his  employment 
in  the  interpretation  of  this  force  one  peculiarly 
fitting  and  consistent  with  Greek  ideals  of  religion 
and  aesthetics.  When,  however,  it  comes  to  the 
Caryatids  of  the  Erechtheion  just  a  shadow  of 
doubt  crosses  my  mind,  just  a  shade  of  criticism 
lingers.  I  shall  reject  the  theory  that  these  Carya- 
[148] 


tids  are  immortal  monuments  to  slave  maidens, 
for  the  Greek  ideal  controlling  in  architecture 
was  too  profound  and  too  spiritual  to  admit  of 
any  such  perversion.  It  is  true  that  slavery  did 
exist,  and  the  interminable  extent  of  the  flutings 
and  the  endless  repetition  of  details  and  carvings 
more  than  suggest  to  the  temperamental  spirit 
that  these  miracles  of  beauty  must  have  been  ac- 
complished, not  by  artists,  but  by  artisan  slaves 
under  the  strict  rule  of  the  master.  I  doubt  if 
the  Greeks  were  deeply  concerned  with  the  spiritual 
development  of  their  slaves  or  kept  them  in  bond- 
age to  develop  in  them  beauty  and  perfection  of 
character  through  restraint.  Therefore,  I  reject 
the  theory  that  these  Maidens  of  the  Porch  are 
slaves,  and  adhere  to  the  theory  I  have  already 
advanced  that  the  Caryatids  were  designed  to 
proclaim  the  essential  femininity  of  the  Ionic 
order,  to  characterize  and  define  that  order 
which  was  a  monument  to  the  eternal  feminine. 
Even  so,  I  cannot  rid  myself  of  the  idea  that  the 
Doric  conception  as  expressed  in  the  Atlantes  is 
really  the  finer  of  the  two.  The  Maidens  literally 
support.  I  know  that  the  distinction  is  fine;  but 
still  there  is  a  distinction  to  be  drawn  between 
symbolic  interpretation  and  actual  participation. 
It  is  drawn  every  day  in  our  criminal  courts.  In 
bearing  and  attitude  these  Maidens  are  symbolic  of 

[149] 


the  highest  in  Greek  philosophy  as  exemplified  in 
the  individual,  but  not  of  the  finest  in  Greek  art. 
In  spite  of  the  ultra-refinement  of  the  entablature, 
in  spite  of  its  perfect  balance  of  forces  amounting 
to  a  bouquet  of  flowers,  these  goddesses,  these 
serene  and  poised  exemplars  of  womanly  charm, 
are  bearing  a  physical  burden,  and  that  fact,  in 
spite  of  the  shield  and  spear  of  Athena,  I  cannot 
quite  reconcile  with  the  Greek  ideal  of  womanly 
perfection  as  exemplified  in  the  goddess. 

The  Atlantes  and  Caryatids  furnish  the  only  in- 
stances of  the  employment  by  the  Greeks  of  sculp- 
ture along  the  lines  or  axes  of  force.  The  near- 
est approximation,  though  altogether  different  in 
motive,  is  found  in  the  sculptured  drums  of  the 
columns  of  the  Artemision  at  Ephesus,  an  ornate 
Ionic  structure  of  a  rare  type.  The  sculptured 
figures  are  of  gods  and  goddesses  and  in  no  man- 
ner express  support.  The  flutings  of  the  shaft 
began  in  all  probability  above  a  narrow  base 
molding  which  intervened  between  the  shaft  and 
the  sculptured  drum.  A  pedestal  upon  which  the 
drum  rested  was  also  sculptured  in  the  field  be- 
tween a  plinth  and  an  ornate  crown  mold.  This 
field,  as  also  the  podium  and  the  wall  generally, 
was  probably  conceived  by  the  Greeks  as  in  repose, 
and,  hence,  adapted  to  sculpture  and  carved  orna- 
ment. Transitional  members,  functioning  as  do 
[150] 


the  base  and  capital,  often  adorned  and  gave 
structural  character  to  the  wall.  A  band  beneath 
the  crown  mold  was  ,not  infrequently  set  off  as  a 
frieze  and  adorned  with  rich  sculpture,  as  in  the 
Parthenon,  the  example  best  known  to  us.  It 
would  be  logical  to  infer  from  the  presence  of 
base  and  crown  molds  that  an  aspiring  force  was 
conceived  of  as  operating  within  the  wall.  The 
builders  of  the  Parthenon  did  no  violence  to  this 
conception  by  permitting  the  seeming  invasion  of 
this  field  by  the  sculptured  frieze;  indeed,  they 
reinforced  the  idea,  for  the  frieze  interprets  the 
successful  struggle  of  the  gods  against  beings  of 
the  lower  order  seeking  domination,  and  the  emer- 
gence of  beauty  from  the  conflict.  The  Parthenon 
frieze  was  a  concrete  statement  of  the  content  of 
Greek  philosophy  and  art.  The  metopes  of  the 
Doric  entablature  were,  as  I  have  shown,  fields  or 
zones  of  repose  in  which  the  sculptor  was  free  to 
vent  his  fancy  without  the  hampering  necessity  of 
conforming  his  design  to  structural  expression. 
This,  too,  was  true  of  the  tympanum,  the  triangu- 
lar space  bounded  by  the  entablature  and  the  rak- 
ing molds  of  the  pediment.  The  stresses  theoreti- 
cally were  all  absorbed  in  the  horizontal  and  in 
the  raking  members,  leaving  the  field  free  for  any 
disposition  of  sculpture  or  any  play  of  light  and 
shade  the  designer  might  elect,  and  he  generally 

[151] 


elected  to  place  figures  prone,  reclining,  kneeling, 
or  crouching  at  the  angles,  rising  to  the  vertical 
position  in  the  center,  thus  echoing  in  the  sculp- 
tural composition  the  expression  of  that  ideal 
unity  to  which  attention  already  has  been  directed. 
For  the  Greek  treatment  of  sculptured  frieze 
and  metope  I  have  only  the  highest  admiration, 
but  the  treatment  of  the  pediment,  it  seems  to  me, 
leaves  much  to  be  desired.  To  fill  the  triangular 
space  and  to  conserve  unity  it  was  necessary  to 
vary  the  scale  of  the  figures,  or  place  them  in  con- 
strained or  artificial  attitudes.  When  they  were 
detached  from  the  background,  the  figures  gave 
the  impression  of  being  "  stood  around,"  of  being 
unrelated  objects  of  bric-a-brac  on  a  shelf.  There 
is  no  more  beautiful  sculpture  in  the  world  than 
some  of  that  which  adorned  the  temple  pediments, 
but  the  beauty  of  the  sculpture  could  not  save  it 
from  seeming  architecturally  a  thing  apart.  The 
perfect  treatment  of  the  sculptured  pediment  is 
yet  to  be  achieved,  if  ever  it  is  to  be.  A  misunder- 
standing and  misinterpretation  of  the  Atlantes 
caused  the  Romans,  and  through  them  the  archi- 
tects of  the  Renaissance  and  the  moderns,  to  vio- 
late most  flagrantly  the  canons  of  architecture, 
beauty,  and  unity  in  the  placing  of  free  standing 
portrait  or  allegorical  sculpture  upon  columns 
used  decoratively  rather  than  structurally  about 
[152] 


the  building.  This  treatment  debases  the  struc- 
ture, vulgarizes  the  building,  and  makes  of  the 
sculpture,  however  beautiful  it  may  be,  an  unre- 
lated and  altogether  extraneous  object  of  bric-a- 
brac.  No  extenuation  can  be  found  in  the  excuse, 
sometimes  given  as  a  reason,  that  the  sculpture  is 
necessary  to  the  architectural  composition;  some 
sculpture  may  be  required,  but  not  that.  There 
are  in  the  Greek  very  few  examples  where  a  field 
of  force  has  been  invaded  by  other  than  sculpture 
enforcing  the  symbolism  of  structural  stress  and 
strain.  The  sculptured  epistyle  of  the  very  early 
Doric  temple  at  Assos  is  the  most  important  of 
these;  but  this  is  an  archaic  structure,  with  col- 
umns devoid  of  entasis,  and  tells  the  story  of  that 
remote  period  before  the  Greeks  had  found 
themselves. 

One  matter  with  relation  to  the  sculpture  and 
carvings  of  the  Greek  temple  must  not  escape  us, 
as  it  is  vital  to  the  chastity  of  the  design  and  to 
the  preservation  of  the  larger  unity.  Nowhere 
is  the  architectural  ornament  pendant;  nowhere 
does  it  hang  in  festoons.  Wherever  a  suggestion 
of  this  motive  is  found,  and  the  instances  are  very 
rare,  it  will  be  not  in  Greece  but  in  Asia  Minor, 
of  a  very  late  period,  and  probably  traceable  to 
Roman  influence.  There  is  nothing  so  discordant 
with  the  aspiring  note  vital  to  any  great  or  fine 
[i53] 


architecture  as  permanent  decorations  in  which 
the  feeling  runs  counter  to  the  rising  force.  The 
festoon  is  for  temporary  display;  and  while  a  dig- 
nified, serious  structure  might  be  asked  to  lend 
itself  for  the  moment  to  lighter  matters,  to  impose 
upon  it  the  burden  of  permanent  festivity,  or  of 
permanent  grief,  or  permanent  expression  of  any 
temporary  mood,  is  to  debase  its  character  and 
mar  its  unity.  A  man  of  spirit  cannot  always  be 
decked  out  as  a  beau  or  a  harlequin;  only  a  marion- 
ette in  a  shop  window  can  stand  that.  In  the  best 
examples  of  neither  the  Greek  nor  the  Roman- 
esque, nor  indeed  of  the  Gothic,  do  we  find  em- 
blems of  war  or  the  chase,  or  of  any  of  the  trivial 
and  every-day  occupations  and  diversions  of  man, 
carved  permanently  into  the  structural  masses  of 
the  building.  Rome  bequeathed  this  altogether 
ignoble  conception  of  architectural  adornment  to 
the  modern  Western  World  through  the  Renais- 
sance, and  the  modern  Western  World  accepted 
it  in  the  name  of  classic  culture.  Trophies,  arms, 
instruments,  implements,  all  may  be  hung  upon 
the  wall  as  matters  of  personal  interest  and  even 
of  decoration;  but  as  one  loves  the  integrity  of 
architecture,  he  should  not  carve  them  or  sem- 
blances of  them  into  the  stone  or  apply  them  per- 
manently in  bronze.  Too  disgusting  for  words  is 
the  employment,  as  decoration,  of  skulls  of  ani- 

[i54] 


mals  or  men  and  the  carved  representations  of  the 
remains  of  burnt  or  blood  offerings.  Taste  and 
humanity  revolt  at  such  exhibitions.  In  the  zones 
of  repose  tapestries,  mural  paintings,  and  appro- 
priate carvings  may  be  exposed  with  propriety  and 
effectiveness,  but  they  should  not  cross  the  lines  of 
force  nor  mar  the  structural  unity.  There  may 
well  be  cases  where,  as  in  the  dwelling,  space  or 
zones  should  be  provided  for  decorations  of  an 
ephemeral  nature,  where  architectural  forms  and 
lines  of  force  should  not  dominate,  but  individual 
expression  of  taste  in  decoration  be  permitted  to 
assert  itself.  Such  wise  provision  may  save 
worthy  architectural  forms  and  compositions  from 
desecration. 

In  the  Gothic  vaultings  the  pendentive  strikes 
a  false  note.  This  feature  was  undoubtedly  sug- 
gested by  the  points  of  the  foliated  traceries.  From 
a  detail  which  was  introduced  to  give  lightness 
and  airiness  to  the  ascending  lines  came  a  feature 
which  opposes  itself  to  the  general  tendency  and 
creates  a  discord.  It  is  stalactitic,  while  the  fleche, 
or  the  pinnacle  directly  above  it,  is  stalagmitic. 
The  mind  which  comprehends  the  entire  structure 
feels  instinctively  this  lack  of  harmony.  The 
feature  is  comparatively  rare  and  does  not  occur 
in  the  best  examples  of  the  art. 

In  Arabian  architecture,  more  emotional  and 
[i55] 


fantastic  than  the  most  florid  examples  of  the 
Gothic,  are  ceiling,  vaults  which  have  been  inap- 
propriately and  altogether  mistakenly  denomi- 
nated "  stalactitic."  In  none  of  them  is  there  a 
drooping  line  or  pendant  form.  The  little  sec- 
tional or  fragmentary  domes  which  go  to  make  up 
the  larger  dome  or  vault  everywhere,  even  when 
seemingly  pendentive,  exhibit  the  rising  tendency, 
if  not,  indeed,  the  aspiring  spirit,  as  does  the 
greater  form  itself.  The  line  is  similar  to  that 
used  in  the  Corinthian  bell  capital  and  in  the  medi- 
aeval capitals;  one  concave  form  springs  upward 
from  another  (Fig.  9~F),  developing  beauty  in 
the  true  spirit  of  ancient  Greece.  As  with  the 
Greek  so  with  the  Gothic  —  only  with  the  latter 
more  exuberantly  and  redundantly  —  the  carvings 
emphasize  the  character  and  direction  of  the 
forces  in  the  mass.  While  in  the  Gothic  there 
never  was  the  Greek  refinement  of  form,  yet  in  the 
earlier  examples  there  was  an  almost  Greek  aus- 
terity, and  the  lack  of  refinement  in  form  was 
atoned  for  by  the  warmth  of  color  and  the  inti- 
mate personal  touch.  Throughout  the  mediaeval 
Gothic  we  feel  the  presence  of  the  personal  influ- 
ence and  the  absence  of  the  master  of  the  machine. 
We  are  in  the  presence  of  a  truly  democratic  archi- 
tecture, in  which  the  carving  of  statue,  of  boss,  of 
cusp,  and  of  capital  was  contributed  as  a  personal 
[156] 


offering,  as  a  labor  of  love.  In  the  presence  of 
the  modern  Gothic  we  gain  no  such  impression. 
We  feel  all  too  keenly  the  masterful  insistence 
of  the  material  machine  doing  work  it  never  was 
intended  to  do  and  doing  it  for  people  who  have 
missed  the  inspiring  motive. 

While  sculpture  is  allied  with  form,  yet  it  is 
form  proper  rather  than  sculpture  which  finds  its 
complement  in  color.  It  is  through  form  that  the 
sense  of  power  in  a  structure  forces  itself  upon 
the  mind;  it  is  color  which  radiates  charm  and 
bathes  the  object  in  atmosphere.  Color  and  form 
together  deepen  the  mystery  which  must  surround 
and  penetrate  any  work  of  superlative  art;  to- 
gether they  intensify  the  glooms  and  heighten  the 
gleams  of  the  inherent  magic.  The  Egyptian 
temples  meet  us  with  forms  compelling  the  sense 
of  power,  forms  clothed  in  the  mystery  of  chia- 
roscuro and  color.  The  Greek  temples  greet  us 
with  forms  which  charm  and  with  color  which 
weaves  the  spell  of  magic  about  them.  The  Gothic 
piles  lift  us  up  into  the  mysterious  heights  and 
bathe  body  and  soul  in  an  atmosphere  of  luminous 
vibrant  color.  The  methods  employed  in  these 
three  great  types  are  individual  and  distinctive. 
With  the  Egyptian  the  conventionalized  repre- 
sentations of  terrestrial  life,  upon  pier,  pylon, 
wall,  and  lintel,  were  picked  out  in  bright  and 
[i57] 


striking  colors  which  vanished  warmly  into  the 
deep  rich  gloom.  With  the  Greek  the  architec- 
tural members,  such  as  the  echinus,  the  abacus,  the 
moldings  of  entablature  and  of  the  pediment, 
were  ornamented  with  patterns  in  rich,  harmoni- 
ous colors;  patterns  which  were  intended  to  en- 
hance to  the  eye  the  value  of  the  functional  parts 
and  to  reinforce  the  form.  The  sculpture  of 
the  pediment,  harmoniously  colored,  shone  out 
against  a  contrasting  background,  while  the  col- 
umns stood  in  relief  against  the  tinted  walls  of 
the  cella;  and  thus  the  temple  shone  magically 
resplendent  in  the  ambient  light  of  the  Attic  sun. 
With  the  Gothic  enters  a  new  element.  Color  is 
now  removed  from  the  solids  and  fills  the  voids; 
no  longer  is  it  content  to  be  reflected  from  the 
surface  of  the  mass,  but  swims  and  dances  for- 
ward to  enfold  all  in  its  atmospheric  arms  —  to 
baptize  the  form  into  its  own  radiant  luminous 
spirit.  And  so  colored  surface  decorations  in  the 
Gothic  temples  were  reduced  to  a  minimum,  for  it 
was  difficult  for  opaque  color  to  compete  on  even 
terms  with  the  refracted,  reflected,  tremulous, 
and  living  light  that  was  distilled  through  the 
luminous  screen  which  filled  the  voids  between  the 
great  ever-ascending  piers.  In  the  Greek,  color 
while  assisting  form  drew  the  whole  into  fuller 
unity  and  added  rarer  charm.  In  the  mediaeval, 
[158] 


color,  the  impalpable  entrancing  spirit  borne  upon 
the  shafts  of  light  which  penetrated  the  trans- 
lucent voids,  not  caring  nor  intended  to  enhance 
the  value  of  single  forms  or  details,  enveloped 
the  whole  in  a  charmed  atmosphere,  mellowing, 
gleaming,  glowing,  or  glooming  in  the  changing 
lights  and  in  the  shadows  and  shades  of  passing 
clouds. 

The  interplay  of  light  and  shade  which  is  the 
concomitant  of  form,  though  powerful  and  mystic 
in  its  appeal,  is  in  reality  simple  in  its  essence  and 
depends  rather  upon  the  meaning  behind  and  char- 
acter within  the  form  than  upon  any  subtle  quality 
or  complex  nature  such  as  reside  in  color.  Light 
and  shade,  unless  influenced  from  without,  stay 
as  firmly  fixed  in  their  surroundings  as  do  the  fixed 
stars  in  their  heavenly  environment.  But  let  color 
touch  the  form,  and  all  is  changed;  and  .necessarily 
so  from  the  very  nature  of  color  which  makes  at 
one  and  the  same  time  a  physical  and  a  psychic 
appeal.  For  instance,  and  roughly  speaking,  blue 
will  calm  the  emotions  while  red  will  excite  them. 
Yellow  and  gold  maintain  a  neutrality  and  poise 
both  physically  and  spiritually,  tending  neither  to 
incite  or  allay  passion  nor  to  advance  or  retreat 
from  the  plane  upon  which  either  may  be  laid. 
Blue  is  of  a  retiring  nature  and  the  plane  upon 
which  it  is  spread  seems  to  withdraw  itself,  while 
[i59] 


red  is  aggressive  in  its  character  and  the  plane  in 
which  it  is  active  seems  to  leave  its  real  position 
in  relation  to  its  surroundings  and  to  come  for- 
ward. From  this  crude  analysis  it  will  become  ap- 
parent that  color  understandingly  used  in  connec- 
tion with  form  will  bring  out  its  deeper  character 
and  create  a  spiritual  atmosphere  of  mystery  and 
charm;  that  color  misapplied  will  undermine  the 
character  of  the  form,  rob  it  of  charm,  and  tear 
asunder  an  otherwise  sublime  unity.  The  use  of 
color  and  its  psychological  bearing  are  so  little 
understood  today  that  designers  in  the  classic 
styles  avoid  it,  tacitly  confessing  weakness  and 
an  inability  to  rise  to  the  heights  of  aesthetic  imag- 
ination. Color  is  supremely  effective  in  architec- 
ture, when,  as  a  physical  attribute  of  a  material, 
it  enhances  the  aesthetic  value  of  that  material  as 
a  structural  medium.  When  the  color  charm  and 
atmosphere  reside  in  the  basic  material  of  the 
structure  itself  rather  than  in  a  coating  super- 
ficially applied,  whether  in  the  form  of  pigment, 
mosaic,  or  slab,  the  impression  of  sincerity  and 
structural  integrity  is  more  profound. 

The  employment  of  richly  veined  and  colored 
marbles  and  rare  stones  in  structural  members 
has  been,  except  in  rare  instances,  for  the  purpose 
of  enforcing  the  idea  of  wealth  and  of  adding  to 
the  sense  of  luxury  in  the  surroundings;  to  give 
[160] 


variety  and  bestow  a  certain  charm  decoratively, 
but  not  for  the  fuller  purpose  of  assisting  structure 
to  express  through  an  interpretation  of  its  laws 
the  deeper  meaning  of  life.  The  use  of  materials 
in  which  color  inheres  and  in  which  the  color 
reinforces  the  expression  of  structural  function- 
ing has  not  as  yet  been  brought  to  its  fullest  archi- 
tectural development.  The  matter  furnishes  a 
basis  for  future  employment  which  may  well  tax 
the  aesthetic  powers  of  those  engaged,  and  still 
to  engage,  in  the  exalted  art  of  architectural 
interpretation. 


[161] 


X 
MODERN  ARCHITECTURE 

IMITATIVE— CREATIVE 


[i64] 


MODERN  ARCHITECTURE 

IMITATIVE —CREATIVE 

ARCHITECTURE,  above  all  others,  is  the 
art  of  self-expression. .  An  age  which  has 
anything  to  say  will  say  it  in  its  archi- 
tecture. A  race  which  has  any  vital  message  to 
impart  will  deliver  it  in  its  buildings.  Architec- 
ture will  carry  the  message  whether  it  be  signifi- 
cant or  meaningless,  whether  it  be  worthy  or  un- 
worthy; and  it  is  quite  possible  for  an  age,  or  a 
people,  possessed  of  spiritual  insight,  to  read  its 
message  or  see  its  face  mirrored  in  its  architecture. 
Our  own  age  will  detect  much  of  the  imitative, 
somewhat  of  the  creative,  and  a  great  deal  of  the 
uninspired  in  its  art. 

As  preliminary  to  a  discussion  of  modern  work, 
it  is  desirable  to  draw  the  line  between  imitation 
and  creation.  The  process  of  creation  in  art  is 
deeply  involved  in  the  processes  of  the  imagina- 
tion, while  imitation,  when  not  directly  reflecting 
the  image  of  the  model  or  copy-plate,  is  deeply 
involved  in  the  processes  of  the  memory.  The 
[165] 


boundary  between,  shall  I  say,  sluggish  imagina- 
tion and  active  memory  in  the  border-lands  of  art 
is  confused,  and  one  traversing  it  steps  unwittingly 
now  and  again  from  the  realms  of  fancy  over  into 
the  domain  of  memory.  Many,  thinking  them- 
selves to  be  tilling  the  fields  of  fancy  and  imagina- 
tion, are  in  reality  but  harvesting  a  crop  of  memo- 
ries; many  are  but  exercising  clever  powers  of 
adaptation.  It  were  an  ungrateful  task  to  disillu- 
sion such  as  these.  Itj^p\8^haps,  an  impossible 
task,  and  I,  for  one,  should  not  caTe  to  attempt  it  did 
not  I  feel  that  the  age  would  be  better  served  were 
the  boundary  line  to  be  plainly  marked,  so  that  all 
may  recognize  the  environing  conditions  and  thus 
be  able  to  see  clearly  how  the  artist  meets  the  situ- 
ation, and  how  truthfully,  if  at  all,  he  is  inter- 
preting the  deeper  meaning  and  expressing  the 
richer  spirit  of  his  time  and  place;  for  in  truth- 
fulness of  interpretation  and  in  beauty  of  expres- 
sion lies  the  way  toward  worthy  and  lasting 
achievement  in  art.  To  avoid  confusion  we  must 
start  with  a  clear  conception  of  the  nature  of  imi- 
tation, and  be  able  thus  to  distinguish  between 
palpably  copy-book  practices  and  that  seeming  imi- 
tation which,  upon  reflection,  we  find  to  be  in  no 
manner  imitative,  but  in  reality  creative,  art. 
Thus  the  Greek  artists  in  developing  and  refining 
the  curve  of  the  entasis  or  the  lines  of  the  echinus 
[166] 


and  the  volute  were  not  in  the  least  sense  imitating 
the  work  of  those  who  preceded  them.  They  were 
evolving,  consciously  and  with  the  highest  ethical 
and  aesthetic  intent,  an  expression  of  that  race 
spirit  which  was  perhaps  but  dimly  perceived  by 
the  earlier  worshipers  at  the  shrine  of  art,  but 
which  became  more  clearly  defined  and  more  sus- 
ceptible of  rich  and  beautiful  interpretation  as 
the  unfolding  years  brought  wisdom  and  knowl- 
edge and  power  and  technical  skill  to  the  fol- 
lowers of  the  early  cult.  These  were  not  imita- 
tors; they  were  creators  in  the  sublimest  aesthetic 
sense.  The  same  is  to  be  said  of  Egypt,  though 
the  art  forms  persisted  through  fifty  centuries. 
The  same  is  true  of  mediaevalism,  which  responded 
in  outward  expression  to  the  inner  call  of  an  emo- 
tionalism which  demanded  the  upspringing  pier, 
the  aspiring  arch  and  vault,  the  wide-flung  but- 
tress. No  mediaeval  castle  was  built  in  imitation 
of  its  neighbor.  No  Gothic  cathedral  was  an 
imitation  of  another  even  though  the  forms  might 
be  very  like.  Each  was  the  aesthetic  answer  to  a 
racial  call  which  sounded  in  the  innermost  heart 
of  mediaeval  humanity.  But  if  we  of  today  —  a 
day  and  a  people  of  a  vastly  different  thought  and 
idealism  —  seek  to  build  a  Gothic  cathedral,  rear- 
range the  forms  as  we  may,  the  result  will  be  mere 
imitation;  just  as  surely  as  a  Greek  temple  built 
[167] 


in  the  Middle  Ages,  had  such  a  thing  been  possible, 
would  have  been  an  imitation  of  the  crassest  sort; 
just  as  an  Egyptian  temple  built  in  Athens  by  the 
Periclean  Greeks,  were  such  a  monstrosity  con- 
ceivable, would  have  given  the  lie  to  the  creative 
spirit  of  Greece  or  would  have  been  the  grossest 
of  gross  imitations. 

I  cannot  feel  otherwise  than  that  the  Greeks  in 
developing  and  refining  their  native  forms  were 
not  imitating  but  were  sublimely  creating.  If  this 
is  so,  it  should  hold  a  lesson  for  one  who  is  seeking 
to  create  an  individual  expression  in  our  demo- 
cratic state.  It  would  seem  inevitable  that  in  a 
democratic  state  the  individual  should  take  the 
initiative.  The  efforts  of  the  individual,  that  they 
may  be  of  permanent  value  to  the  cause  of  com- 
munal art,  must  be  based  on  some  sound  principle 
which  shall  appeal  to  the  communal  heart  and 
understanding;  which  shall  demonstrate  its  need 
by  touching  some  sympathetic  chord  in  the  en- 
vironing life.  If  the  underlying  principle  be 
sound,  and  the  forms  in  which  it  is  given  aesthetic 
expression  be  valid,  then  others  may  and  will  use 
these  forms  in  their  individual  efforts  to  solve  the 
problem  of  communal  expression.  Such  use  is 
perfectly  legitimate  and  is  in  the  nature  of  crea- 
tive, constructive  effort  rather  than  after  the  na- 
ture of  imitation.  Certain  strong  individualists 
[168] 


of  our  day  have  charged  their  own  "  disciples  " 
with  being  imitators  because,  forsooth,  these  same 
disciples  were  employing  the  "  master's  forms  " ! 
If  the  master's  forms  are  specious  forms,  based 
on  personal  idiosyncrasies,  their  use  by  another 
would,  indeed,  be  in  the  nature  of  unjustifiable 
imitation;  but  if  the  forms  are  the  aesthetic  cloth- 
ing of  a  living  idea  they  belong  to  the  race,  and 
one  who  did  not  debase  them  but  who  employed 
them  rightly  was  in  so  doing  assisting  in  a  legiti- 
mate act  of  creation.  A  "  master  "  will  realize 
that  the  vital  spark  within  him  did  not  come  from 
himself,  but  from  the  race,  and  should  be  freely 
given  to  the  race. 

Imitation,  in  its  worst  architectural  form,  next 
to  transplanting  bodily  a  building  from  a  remote 
period  into  alien  soil  —  which,  after  all,  is  affec- 
tation rather  than  imitation  —  consists  in  apply- 
ing to  the  buildings  of  one  age  forms  expressive 
of  the  idealism  of  another,  when  the  civilizations 
of  the  two  ages,  as  expressed  in  the  varying  reli- 
gions, philosophical  systems,  and  social  and  politi- 
cal organisms,  are  altogether  dissimilar.  What 
is  our  national  and  communal  experience  and 
achievement  in  this  regard?  In  the  first  place,  we 
saw  fit  to  crown  our  national  capitol  with  a  dome. 
Now  this  must  have  been  in  response  to  some 
sentiment  within  the  people;  must  have  been  the 
[169] 


expression,  in  terms  of  architecture,  of  some  deep 
underlying  national  philosophy.  It  must  have 
been  this  to  be  art,  and,  as  art,  expressive  of  the 
people.  What  sentiment  does  this  dome  radiate ; 
what  philosophy  does  it  interpret?  Is  it  the  same 
sentiment  which  exhales  from,  or  the  same  philos- 
ophy which  underlies,  St.  Paul's  in  London,  the 
Pantheon  in  Paris,  St.  Peter's  in  Rome?  If  the 
form  has  any  meaning  —  and  how  unworthy  it 
is  if  it  is  mere  ornament  without  meaning  —  the 
answer  is,  yes !  But  these  great  churches,  though 
widely  separated,  arose  from  the  same  thought 
under  similar  conditions;  they  were  the  expres- 
sion of  a  power  which  exercised  dominion  over 
body  and  claimed  dominion  over  soul,  and  with 
the  exception  of  one,  were  sincere  expressions  in 
noble  materials.  Can  the  cast-iron  shell  at  the 
national  capital  be  reconciled  with  that  thought 
and  with  those  conditions ;  does  it  reflect  that  sin- 
cerity? It  will  be  difficult  for  one  who  is  sensitive 
to  the  form,  for  one  to  whom  the  psychology  of 
the  dome  is  real  and  who  knows  the  history  of  its 
development,  not  to  feel  that  the  feature  implies 
domination  from  without,  rather  than  altruistic 
cooperation  within,  and  so,  be  thrown  back  upon 
the  stern  conviction  that  the  form  as  used  by  us  is 
an  imitation;  and  an  imitation  when  all  understand- 
ing and  knowledge  of  the  indwelling  spirit  and 
[170] 


underlying  motive  has  been  lost.  In  our  national 
infancy  the  embryonic  architects  could  not  think 
clearly  or  act  independently  outside  the  formulas 
of  thrones,  principalities,  and  dominions,  as  did  the 
fathers  who  wrote  the  Declaration  and  the  states- 
men who  framed  the  Constitution.  The  times  did 
not  call  for  imitative  art  any  more  than  for  imita- 
tive statesmanship ;  certainly  not  for  the  imitation 
of  autocratic  and  imperial  forms  of  expression  as 
against  democratic.  Quite  naturally  a  confused 
people  followed  confused  and  imitative  leaders  in 
art,  to  the  end  that  now  the  statehouses,  almost 
without  exception,  are  imitations  of  this  greater 
imitation,  and  county  buildings  and  city  halls 
follow  in  the  wake.  Upon  the  fagades  of  these 
edifices  —  which  in  general  would  show  their  ill- 
proportions  but  for  the  features  —  are  planted 
imitations  of  structural  members,  which  do  not 
imitate  structural  functioning,  however,  and  so 
introduce  an  element  of  confusion  and  discord. 
These  imitations  of  columns  and  capitals  and  en- 
tablatures —  applied  for  purposes  of  decoration, 
to  fill  a  space  with  a  pattern,  to  produce  a  play  of 
light  and  shade,  to  fill  the  voids  for  minds  which 
cannot  stand,  or  understand,  a  simple  beautiful 
statement  of  truth  but  crave  frills  and  embroidery, 
—  these  imitations  of  structural  forms  are  sup- 
plemented by  imitations  of  shields  and  by  car- 
[171] 


touches  made  up  of  imitations  of  interpenetrating 
straps  intertwined  with  imitation  festoons.  In  not 
one  particular  does  the  ornament  symbolize  a 
spiritual  idea  or  clothe  a  sincere  thought  or  mo- 
tive; and,  while  it  is  inspired  through  the  Renais- 
sance by  the  Roman,  it  wants  the  inhering  force 
and  the  characteristic  power  which  the  Roman  of 
eld  possessed. 

The  styles  of  previous  ages  as  practiced  today 
are  imitations,  whether  they  are  adopted  directly 
from  copy-books  and  models  or  learned  by  rote 
in  schools  or  otherwhere  and  applied  to  the  work 
in  hand.  If,  today,  the  building  to  be  designed  be 
a  library,  a  classic  treatment  would  be  more  appro- 
priate than  would  be  a  Romantic;  and  Gothic 
forms  applied  to  the  cloak  of  a  tall  steel  skele- 
ton, or  to  an  institutional  church,  would  be  more 
appropriate  than  classic  or  Oriental  forms ;  but  in 
all  three  cases  the  beginning  would  be,  and  the 
end  would  result  in,  imitation. 

There  is  a  too  general  tendency  to  confuse  selec- 
tive taste  and  skill  with  creative  power.  This  con- 
fusion reigns  almost  supreme  in  the  minds  of  those 
who  comprehend  but  slightly  the  meaning  of  crea- 
tive power  or  who  possess  only  selective  skill;  it 
does  not  affect  so  greatly  those  who  in  addition 
to  powers  of  selection  possess  also  powers  of 
imagination.  The  ability  to  weave  known  or 
[172] 


dimly  remembered  forms  into  patterns  heretofore 
unseen  is  not  the  ability  to  reach  out  into  the  un- 
known and  grasp  that  which  shall  fully  interpret 
newly  arisen  conditions  and  properly  express  what 
theretofore  had  rested  unexpressed.  One  power 
operates  in  the  field  of  selective  imitation,  the 
other  in  the  domain  of  creative  imagination.  New 
problems  call  for  creative  force,  but  the  race  has 
so  long  been  imitative  —  starting  that  way  in  the 
life  of  the  individual  as  well  as  in  the  communal 
life  —  that  it  is  difficult  for  it  to  shed  its  chrysalis 
and  break  forth  and  soar  away  on  the  rainbow- 
hued  wings  of  imagination.  This  is  demon- 
strated in  the  efforts  of  those  even  who  are  con- 
ceived to  be  leaders  today  in  original  or  creative 
architecture.  The  supreme  leader,  uttering  the 
cant  phrase,  "  form  should  follow  function," 
scorns  the  classic  column  and  entablature  and  in- 
troduces forms  which  function  no  more  than  do 
cartouches  or  any  similar  form  of  superficial 
adornment  and  which  express  just  as  little  the  true 
spirit  of  today,  if  I  correctly  interpret  that  spirit. 
The  forms  which  are  distinctive  of  this  new  effort, 
while  really  Oriental  in  conception,  are  touched 
with  an  individuality  which  marks  them  as  orig- 
inal. But  these  forms  are  not  based  on  a  recog- 
nized or  recognizable  philosophy  of  life  and  do 
not  answer  to  a  distant  racial  or  national  call,  and, 
[i73] 


therefore,  for  another  to  adopt  them  would  be  in 
the  nature  of  the  merest  imitation.  In  the  hands 
of  the  master  even  they  are,  as  I  say,  imitative  of 
the  Oriental  manner,  and  are  made  to  cover  the 
surface  of  the  structure  with  intricate  ornament 
absolutely  unrelated  to  the  structure,  altogether 
out  of  scale  with  the  functional  or  other  parts. 
They  cross  at  will  lines  of  force  and  invade  zones 
of  conflict  without  ameliorating  in  any  particular 
the  conditions  surrounding  the  struggle.  In  the 
mouth  of  its  modern  users  the  phrase,  "  form 
should  follow  function,"  is  somewhat  more  than 
cant;  it  is  the  statement  of  a  misconception  arising 
probably  from  a  confusion  of  the  meaning  of  the 
verb.  It  is  as  though  one  should  say  that  the  build- 
ing, first,  must  be  made  to  function  to  its  uses,  and 
after  that  any  form  may  be  introduced  which  does 
not  interfere  with  such  functioning.  However, 
the  real  meaning  is  not  that  the  building  or  its 
functional  plan  shall  be  dressed  up  according  to 
the  whims  of  the  designer,  but  that  its  parts  shall 
function  structurally,  and,  so  functioning,  shall  be 
given  proper  and  adequate  functional  forms.  In 
this  spirit  alone  is  Occidental  architecture  to  be 
conceived. 

In  imitation  of  a  certain  broad  and  horizon- 
tal disposition  of  lines  individually  employed,  a 
school  of  design  has   sprung  up,   for  which  its 
[174] 


authors  claim  the  title  u  American."  The  hori- 
zontal lines  of  the  new  expression  appeal  to  the 
disciples  of  this  school  as  echoing  the  spirit  of  the 
prairies  of  the  great  Middle  West,  which  to  them 
embodies  the  essence  of  democracy.  One  after 
another  of  this  school,  with  the  firm  hope  of  cre- 
ating an  American  style,  imitates  and  reiterates 
this  horizontality,  little  realizing,  seemingly,  that 
the  prairies  are  but  one  feature  of  the  great 
physical  face  of  this  country  and  that  the  prairie 
dwellers  are  but  one  aspect  of  its  great  seething 
humanity.  But  most  peculiarly  these  u  creators  " 
of  an  architecture  for  the  prairies  are  unconscious 
that  they  are  running  counter  to  the  laws  of  nature 
in  imitating  the  horizontal  lines  and  making  them 
dominant,  running  counter  to  human  psychology 
in  not  using  a  pyramidal  motive,  and  counter  to 
the  same  element  and  to  the  very  nature  of  democ- 
racy in  not  employing  the  vertical  motive  which  so 
fully  responds  to  democracy's  essential  desires  and 
demands.  In  listening  to  this  voice  and  in  answer- 
ing with  harmonious  forms  the  would-be  builders 
of  a  democratic  architecture  will  not  be  imitating, 
and  imitating  futilely  at  that,  but  will  be  creating 
architecturally  in  the  highest  sense  of  the  term. 

On  a  lower  imitative  plane  than  these  would-be 
designers  of  an  American  style  —  which  in  itself 
is  an  altogether  worthy  ideal  —  are  those  who 

[i75] 


study  abroad  manners  and  matters  absolutely  un- 
related to  American  life,  and  returning,  seek  to 
transplant  the  exotic  forms  into  our  national  art. 
Were  such  as  these  to  get  at  the  true  essence  of 
American  life,  they  would  soon  divest  their  minds 
of  alien  notions  and  create  in  their  art  a  likeness 
of  their  new-found  ideals.  Not  all  the  ideas  a 
sincere  American  gleans  abroad  are  alien,  for 
every  civilized  country  on  the  globe  has  something 
to  which  the  broad  American  spirit  can  respond, 
and  the  forms  which  embody  and  express  these 
things  will  add  strength  and  character  to  American 
art;  but  the  insistent  imitation  of  entirely  foreign 
motives  will  undermine  the  sincerity  and  integrity 
of  any  community;  and  our  whole  country  is  suffer- 
ing from  such  cause  today.  America  has  some- 
thing worthy  of  expression,  some  ideal  worthy  of 
interpretation  in  creative  architecture.  No  imita- 
tor, only  a  creator,  will  discover  the  ideal  and  dis- 
close the  form. 


[176] 


XI 

PRESENT-DAY  IDEALS 


PRESENT-DAY  IDEALS 


THERE  is  an  almost  world-wide  tendency 
toward  popular  participation  in  govern- 
ment which,  sooner  or  later,  must  have 
its  effect  upon  the  character  of  the  entire  art  of 
the  various  nations  and  races  which  are  feeling 
the  impulse.  This  altruistic  tendency  is  not  taking 
the  same  form  in  all  cases;  but  the  right  of  the 
individual  to  a  voice  in  governing  himself  is  com- 
ing to  be  more  generally  proclaimed  and  exercised. 
The  movement  is  slow,  slower  even  than  the  ad- 
vance of  democratic  art,  in  some  sections  where 
autocracy  and  bureaucracy  have  been  for  cen- 
turies enthroned  and  have  almost  irresistibly 
dominated.  It  is  interesting  to  note,  as  it  may  be 
well  for  us  to  recognize,  that  even  under  the 
greatest  military  autocracy  of  modern  times  the 
people  have  been  able  to  express  themselves  aes- 
thetically in  individual  terms  while  the  govern- 
ment was  expressing  itself  both' politically  and  in 
its  art  in  the  dominating,  not  to  say  domineering, 
[i79] 


forms  of  empire.  In  our  own  country  the  yoke 
of  autocracy  was  thrown  off  some  less  than  a  cen- 
tury and  a  half  ago,  and  during  that  time  we  have 
been  trying  to  establish  a  real  democracy  and  to 
justify  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  and  in  our  own 
hearts  the  right,  and  to  demonstrate  the  ability, 
of  such  a  form  of  government  to  exist.  Some  of 
our  native  critics  say  that  we  have  not  justified  the 
right  nor  demonstrated  our  capacity  for  self- 
government.  Others  are  optimistic  and  point  to 
the  shortness  of  the  experimental  period.  Still 
others  believe  that  we  have  proved  our  case.  Of 
this  number  some  will  seek  to  sustain  their  posi- 
tion, not  so  much  by  stating  wherein  we  have  suc- 
ceeded as  by  asking  where  else  can  one  find  any- 
thing better?  We  are  not  concerned  so  much  with 
the  elsewhere  as  with  the  here  and  now.  In  our 
democracy  how  few  of  the  people  are  expressing 
themselves  in  democratic  terms;  how  many  are 
harking  back  to  the  forms  expressive  of  autocracy. 
If  democracy  has  fallen  short  of  the  ideal  the 
failure  may  lie  in  the  people  rather  than  in  the 
idea.  It  is  not  for  us  to  rest  content  with  the  oft- 
expressed  sentiment  than  any  democracy  is  better 
for  the  individual  than  the  best  of  autocracies 
can  be,  but  it  is  for  us  to  seek  the  essence  of  the 
highest  democracy  and  give  it  expression  in  its 
own  proper  terms.  Now,  we  profess  to  believe 
[180] 


that  we  have  established  a  government  of  the 
people,  by  the  people,  for  the  people ;  and  how  do 
we  proceed  to  justify  that  belief?  By  allowing 
vice  to  control  in  our  communities?  By  letting 
predatory  business  corrupt  our  legislatures?  By 
attaching  porticos  symbolic  of  pagan  gods  to  the 
fagades  of  our  jails  as  well  as  to  the  dwellings  of 
our  political  bosses?  By  crowning  our  national 
capitol  and  our  statehouses  with  a  feature  l  em- 
blematic of  concentrated  and  centralized  power 
dominating  from  without?  By  erecting  public 
and  private  buildings  so  wastefully  designed  and 
constructed  and,  in  many  instances,  so  lavishly 
decorated  and  so  overloaded  with  meaningless 
ornament  as  seemingly  to  make  them  possible 
under  only  extravagant  and  tasteless  plutocracy? 
There  is  somewhere  an  adequate  answer  to  all 
this.  For  our  purposes  it  may  be  summed  up  in 
the  question :  Are  we  using  architecture,  the  great 
art  of  self-expression,  to  denote  us  truly?  Let  us 

1  We  do  not  alter  the  inherent  meaning,  or  democratize 
the  expression,  by  surrounding  the  drum  which  supports  the 
dome  with  a  ring  of  individual  columns,  all  cast  in  one 
mold.  In  so  doing  we  really  symbolize  a  state  in  which 
the  individual  has  no  part  but  of  which  he  is  merely  the 
physical  or  mechanical  underpinning.  Our  own  democratic 
state  is  one  which  is  composed  of  individuals  and  created 
for  and  by  them.  A  symbol  of  this  state  I  have  presented, 
though  very  crudely,  in  the  next  chapter. 

t  i8i  ] 


put  this  question  to  ourselves  and  then  search  our 
hearts  to  determine  if  there  is  not  in  us  something 
better  than  all  this  would  seem  to  indicate;  some- 
thing altogether  worthy  of  an  exalted  expression 
which  shall  be  consistent  with  the  idea  of  a  truly 
democratic  state. 

Let  us  get  at  the  elements  of  the  problem.  As 
I  have  already  said,  every  country  has  something 
it  can  contribute  to  the  fuller  expression  of  our 
aesthetic  ideals,  something  quite  consistent  with 
the  thought  of  democracy,  something  which  will 
tend  to  make  the  common  life  rounded  and  full 
and  to  make  the  common  cause  attractive  and  ap- 
pealing. From  the  English  people,  who  have  had 
their  own  battles  to  fight,  we  inherited  long  ago 
the  doctrine  of  popular  rights  and  the  love  of 
individual  liberty;  from  them,  too,  came  a  certain 
stolidity,  a  certain  sturdy  independence  in  politics 
and  a  willingness  to  suffer  for  one's  ideals.  Per- 
haps from  England  came  also  a  diffidence  about 
publicly  expressing  the  deeper  emotions,  and  a 
timidity  in  the  use  of  outward  forms,  arising  from 
a  certain  lack  of  confidence  in  their  own  critical 
judgment  which  led  her  people  to  defer  to  the 
Latins  in  matters  of  taste  and  aesthetic  expression 
when  the  impulse  of  the  Renaissance  moved  west- 
ward. From  France  we  may  get,  not  the  super- 
ficialities of  an  aristocracy  she  was  obliged  to 
[182] 


throttle,  but  the  sparkle  of  the  wine  of  life  which 
did  not  die  out  in  the  struggle  for  u  liberty,  equal- 
ity, and  fraternity."  From  Italy  gleams  the 
steady  sunlight  which  has  cast  a  radiance  now 
pure,  again  melodramatic,  always  warm,  over  the 
long  history  of  her  art.  From  Southeastern 
Europe  and  from  the  Farther  East  mystery,  color, 
and  rhythm  come  as  offerings  for  our  use.  From 
the  German  people  we  may  gain  a  valuable  hint 
as  to  how  a  race  may  find  itself  through  a  search 
for  the  fundamental  in  art,  and  how  it  may  express 
itself  frankly  in  terms  of  the  elemental;  and  we 
shall  learn  that  the  elimination  of  the  extraneous 
will  bring  to  the  surface,  among  the  finer  things, 
that  elemental  brutality  which  civilization  has 
veneered  but  not  eradicated;  a  process  of  self- 
revelation  which,  if  we  are  wise,  we  shall  wel- 
come and  employ.  We  do  not  have  to  go  abroad 
to  gather  in  its  entirety  this  harvest  for  our  gran- 
aries; it  is  being  brought,  in  recognizable  measure 
at  least,  by  those  who  are  coming  to  cast  their  lot 
with  ours.  The  kaleidoscopic  nature  of  the  influx 
complicates  the  problem  of  our  democracy,  which 
is  not  the  simple  and  comparatively  unified  racial 
expression  it  was  in  the  days  of  the  founders,  but 
if  the  solution  ever  is  reached  it  will  transcend  in 
its  fullness  and  richness  anything  the  fathers  could 
have  been  able  to  foresee  or  even  to  imagine. 
[183] 


B 


COLUMN  AND  LINTEL 
A  TRUE  EXPRESSION  OF 
STONE-  A  FALSE 
EXPRESSION  Of  STEEL 


SPLICE- 


C 


EXAMPLE  Or  MODERN 
ARCHJTECrURAL'TREVARICAnON* 

15      FALSE  AND  TRUE 
[184] 


STEEL  FRAMED  .NOTE 
CONTINUOUS  VERTICAL 


Democracy,  generally,  is  conceived  to  be  synony- 
mous with  popular  rights;  but  the  assumption  of 
rights  on  the  part  of  a  people  means  the  assump- 
tion of  responsibilities;  rights  carry  with  them 
duties.  There  must  be  a  unified  social  and  gov- 
ernmental expression  if  there  is  to  be  a  real 
democracy  and  an  adequate  aesthetic  interpreta- 
tion of  it.  Therefore  those  who  seek  freedom  and 
liberty  in  democratic  institutions  should  bring  to 
them  only  such  ideals  and  practices  as  will  clarify 
and  enrich  them.  They  should  not  confuse  the 
problem,  and  by  confusion  make  the  deeply  to 
be  desired  expression  in  art  more  remote  and 
more  difficult  of  accomplishment. 

If  there  is  to  be  a  democratic  expression,  truth, 
sincerity,  and  mutual  understanding  must  underlie 
it.  To  contribute  toward  that  mutual  understand- 
ing I  shall  speak  of  truth  and  sincerity  as  social 
ideals  and  indicate  the  manner  of  their  expres- 
sion in  architecture.  If  we  note  many  flagrant 
lapses  from  grace  we  must  not  say  in  our  hearts 
"  all  men  are  liars  "  but,  rather,  must  force  our- 
selves to  believe  that  all  men  wish  to  be  honest, 
and  that  ignorance  or  carelessness  have  con- 
strained them,  in  these  and  other  specific  instances, 
to  assume  an  attitude  which  misinterprets  their 
true  natares;  failing  to  believe  this  we  must  give 
up  any  hope  of  an  ultimate  beneficent  and  right- 


eous  democracy  and  its  manifestation  in  the  forms 
of  art.  Are  our  municipal  governments  honest  in 
the  expenditure  of  the  people's  moneys,  in  the 
administration  of  the  various  departments,  and 
in  the  enforcement  of  the  laws?  If  so,  why  do 
they  mask  their  honesty  with  structural  shams? 
Are  our  banking  institutions  and  our  public  serv- 
ice corporations  conducted  on  principles  of  hon- 
esty and  fair  dealing?  Yes?  Then  why  do  they 
house  themselves  in  structures  conceived  in  the 
spirit  of  untruth?  Should  not  the  inner  life  and 
the  external  form  correspond  —  or  do  they?  We 
may  surely  set  it  down  as  a  fundamental  principle 
that  a  column  should  function;  else  it  should  not 
be  dressed  up  in  functional  forms;  and,  equally  so, 
that  the  entablature  must  rest  upon  the  column. 
The  inherent  reasonableness  of  this  will  hardly 
be  denied.  Now  let  us  behold  some  examples. 
Meditate  upon  the  structural  principle  (Fig. 
I5-A)  of  one  of  the  greatest  and  most  imposing 
city  halls  of  our  land.  The  steel  work  above  was 
dressed  up  in  stone  to  simulate  an  entablature 
before  ever  the  construction  of  the  columns  had 
been  begun.  The  bases  of  the  columns  rest  for 
the  most  part  on  air.  The  columns,  fortunately 
for  the  structure  and  for  the  public  exchequer, 
are  merely  shells.  Thus  we  have  set  up  to  impress 
us  with  the  power,  honor,  and  dignity  of  the 
[186] 


municipality  a  hollow  sham,  through  which  no 
force  of  any  sort  rises  and  in  which  the  expression 
of  force  and  honesty  of  purpose  is  the  merest  pre- 
tense. Does  this  denote  us  truly?  The  most 
superficially  impressive  of  the  commercial  build- 
ings of  the  metropolis  of  the  Middle  West  is  the 
home  of  a  public  service  corporation  for  which  it 
was  built.  This  edifice  is  adorned  in  each  of  its 
two  street  fagades  with  a  row  of  free  standing 
monolithic  columns  upon  which  the  upper  twenty 
or  so  stories  appear  to  rest.  The  massive  struc- 
ture really  overhangs,  and  the  entablature  is  pur- 
posely made  not  to  bear  upon  the  capitals  for  fear 
that  a  slight  settlement  might  cause  a  fracture  of 
the  stone  from  which  the  capitals  are  carved. 
Does  that  insincere  and  theatrical  display  mark 
the  real  nature  of  that  great  corporation?  Is  the 
integrity  of  our  banks  expressed  in  the  facades 
of  the  buildings  which  house  them  when  the  prin- 
ciple features  are  columns  whose  bases,  shafts, 
and  capitals  are  "  cored  "  and  slipped  down  over 
the  supporting  steel  posts?  Do  the  monumental 
terminals  of  our  important  railway  systems  truth- 
fully express  the  ideals  of  the  management  of  the 
respective  systems  ?  Here,  a  great  building  masks 
the  manifold  activities  of  a  modern  railway  sta- 
tion with  the  Greco-Roman  face  of  a  museum  of 
archaeology;  there,  another  magnifies  some  few 
[187] 


hundred  diameters  the  Franco-Roman  shell  of  a 
French  clock,  divorced  absolutely  from  the 
"  works  "  within.  If  the  engineers  applied  the 
same  methods  to  the  design  of  the  interlocking 
switch  and  block  contrivances  death-dealing  con- 
fusion would  result  in  their  operation;  just  as 
there  does  result  from  these  terminals  a  stifling 
of  the  sense  of  fitness  and  of  honesty  in  the  com- 
munity. Does  all  this  really  express  us  as  we 
would  have  our  great  corporations  interpret  that 
phase  of  our  national  idealism,  or  as  we  would 
desire  to  have  the  story  of  our  industrial  life  set 
down  in  history?  These  are  very  leading  ques- 
tions which  will  be  answered  promptly  and  favor- 
ably to  themselves  by  officials,  directors,  and  man- 
agers. We  may  hold  our  own  opinions.  The 
answers  of  the  designers  will  be  various  and 
mostly  away  from  the  point.  They  will  say  that 
they  are  making  beautiful  buildings,  designed  in 
accordance  with  the  canons  of  art.  This,  of 
course,  I  shall  deny.  They  will  say  that  the  build- 
ing should  be  beautiful  even  if  what  goes  on  within 
is  sometimes  sordid.  With  this  I  shall  agree;  for 
I  have  tried  to  make  clear  that  art  should  repre- 
sent human  desire  and  endeavor  at  their  highest 
and  so  by  example  lead  man  upward.  Are  these 
buildings,  —  which  in  the  cases  cited  are  steel 
skeletons  cloaked  with  stone  or  terra  cotta,  or 
[188] 


both  in  conjunction,  —  are  these  buildings  de- 
signed in  the  spirit  of  art,  which  is  the  spirit  of 
truth  and  sincerity  and  refinement  of  feeling  mani- 
festing itself  in  an  obedience  to  the  laws  of  unity, 
measure,  and  purpose?  Hardly.  There  can  be 
no  unity  if  the  structural  steel  is  doing  one  thing 
while  the  superficial  cloaking  is  saying  another. 
In  a  correctly  designed  steel  skeleton  there  is  no 
horizontal  member  which  can  be  rightfully  trans- 
lated into  an  entablature,  and,  consequently,  no 
post  which  can  be  conceived  of  as  a  column.  The 
column  must  stop  under  the  entablature  (Fig. 
15-6)  ;  the  steel  post  continues  from  the  base 
plate  on  the  concrete  footing  to  the  crown  mold 
of  the  sky-line  (Fig.  I5~C)  ;  to  cut  out  any  portion 
of  this  post  and  dress  it  as  a  column  is  to  deny 
its  unity,  destroy  its  measure  and  defeat  its  pur- 
pose. The  unbroken  ascent  of  the  forces  in  the 
post  should  be  indicated  in  the  enveloping  mate- 
rial, in  its  vertical  lines,  in  its  details  along  the 
rising  shaft  and  at  the  transitional  points  where 
the  spandrel  beams  and  the  floor  girders  unload 
their  weights.  The  classic  column,  with  its  base 
and  capital,  can  find  no  legitimate  place  in  the 
modern  steel-framed  building;  nor  can  the  con- 
tinuous entablature  find  expression  if  the  building 
is  designed  in  the  spirit  of  beauty,  which  is  the 
spirit  of  truth.  Never,  even  in  the  uppermost 


storeys  of  a  tall  steel-framed  building,  has  the 
column  been  introduced  under  a  crowning  member 
simulating  an  entablature  without  the  grossest  vio- 
lation of  the  laws  of  proportion.  The  inherent 
nature  of  the  steel  skeleton  has  proclaimed  against 
the  column  and  entablature;  and  if  horizontality 
of  treatment  is  necessary,  that  the  exterior  of  the 
building  may  express  the  nature  and  function  of 
a  plan  which  is  adapted  to  the  life  within,  it  must 
be  obtained  after  some  manner  and  fashion  which 
will  conserve  the  fundamental  unities. 

While  the  continuous  upward  movement  in  the 
steel  post  must  never  be  denied,  yet  it  need  not 
be  over-accented  when  a  horizontal  feeling  is  to 
be  emphasized  in  order  to  conserve  the  greater 
unity;  that  is,  bring  the  exterior  into  accord  with 
the  purposes  of  the  structure.  The  spandrel  sec- 
tion may  logically  be  treated  with  such  definition 
of  direction  that  it  shall  lend  its  horizontal  charac- 
ter to  the  mass.  An  opposite  treatment  may  bring 
the  horizontal  spandrel  beam  into  harmony  with 
any  vertical  expression  which  may  be  desired. 
The  lofty  steel  skeleton  lends  itself  naturally  to 
the  vertical  expression  but  it  does  not  find  itself 
harmoniously  garbed  in  the  pointed  forms  of  medi- 
aeval Gothic.  The  pointed  forms  were  developed 
from  and  in  harmony  with  the  pointed  ribs  of  the 
vaults  and  there  is  no  vault  nor  arch,  nor  sugges- 

[190] 


tion  of  either,  in  the  structural  principle  of  the 
steel  skeleton.  New  forms  will  have  to  be  in- 
vented if  the  external  cloak  is  fully  and  really  to 
interpret  the  structure;  and  that,  to  be  architec- 
ture, or  art  in  any  true  sense,  it  must  do. 

Though  the  majority  of  our  monumental  and 
commercial  buildings  have  the  steel  skeleton  as 
a  structural  basis,  and  so  must  be  controlled  as  to 
external  design  by  that  fact,  yet  the  great  bulk  of 
our  architecture  is  not  characterized  by  that  sys- 
tem and  must  seek  a  natural  expression  corre- 
sponding to  the  system  employed.  In  proportion 
to  the  truth  and  idealism  with  which  we  deal  with 
the  lesser  problems  will  the  greater  matters  find 
adequate  expression.  A  true  conception  of  func- 
tion, of  simplicity,  of  honesty,  of  sincerity  should 
be  gained  in  the  home  and  wrought  into  the  mate- 
rialization of  its  shelter,  the  dwelling.  If  we 
demand  truth  and  beauty  there,  we  will  not  toler- 
ate ugliness  and  falsehood  in  the  community  build- 
ings. In  a  democracy  the  initiative  lies  with  the 
individual,  and  higher  than  the  individual  no  dem- 
ocratic community  is  able  to  rise.  Higher  than  the 
idealism  of  a  true  home  no  community,  democratic 
or  otherwise,  need  or  can  rise.  The  modern  world 
has  up  to  the  present  been  so  dominated  by  habit 
and  traditions  that  it  has  been  difficult  for  the  in- 
dividual to  find  and  recognize  his  real  self  and  his 
[191] 


true  relations  to  the  community.  Many  a  true 
democrat  is  so  dressed  in  the  trappings  of  aris- 
tocracy that  he  hardly  is  recognizable  and  does 
not  know,  so  long  has  he  worn  it,  how  utterly 
incongruous  the  garb  is.  He  does  not  realize 
how  insincere  the  great  wooden  classic  columns 
about  his  house  make  him  appear.  He  does  not 
realize  how  commonplace  the  everlasting  classic 
portico  to  his  house  makes  him,  even  when  it  is 
in  stone  and  the  columns  function  structurally. 
The  feature  was  beautiful  in  the  Greek  temple 
where  it  had  meaning  and  significance,  but  attached 
to  dwelling,  to  jail,  to  church,  to  bank,  to  poor- 
house,  to  courthouse,  to  theater,  it  has  degener- 
ated into  merest  commonplace  and  claptrap.  Up 
from  the  home  should  come  a  pure,  clear  expres- 
sion of  democracy,  which  is  the  individual  work- 
ing with  the  individual  for  the  uplifting  of  the 
community  —  the  people  for  the  people. 

We  have  in  our  present-day  life  and  environ- 
ment ideals  worthy  of  realization  and  capable  of 
the  highest  aesthetic  interpretation.  Our  schools, 
our  settlement  houses,  our  hospitals,  our  institu- 
tional churches,  —  homes  of  the  religion  of  good- 
ness, —  our  field  and  community  houses,  our 
asylums,  our  libraries  and  art  museums,  —  all 
these,  expressive  of  the  altruism  of  the  age,  lend 
themselves  to  a  strong,  sincere,  lovely,  and  individ- 

[192] 


ual  interpretation  which  should  characterize  the 
age  for  all  time.  And  no  less  characteristic  of 
the  age  are  the  great  industrial  and  commercial 
enterprises  which,  when  operating  in  behalf  of 
the  people,  are  worthy  of  interpretation  in  sincere 
architectural  terms.  The  statehouses  and  muni- 
cipal and  civic  buildings  which  stand  as  the  gov- 
ernmental expression  of  all  this  high  idealism  call 
for  a  richer,  fuller,  and  more  personal  and  ap- 
pealing architectural  embodiment  than  ever  has 
been  given  them  in  ages  past  —  certainly  than  is 
being  given  in  our  meretricious  imitations  of  what 
the  past  gave  them.  This  embodiment  cannot 
rightly  be  Gothic  in  the  mediaeval  manner,  for  this 
age  is  mediaeval  only  in  a  limited  sense;  our  de- 
mocracy is  more  staid  and  studied,  less  emotional, 
less  quixotic.  The  forms  of  the  manifestation 
cannot  rightly  be  classic,  for  our  expression  is  of 
the  people,  by  the  people,  for  the  people;  and 
there  is  no  aristocracy  of  power  dictating  to  slaves, 
except  as  slaves  we  permit  the  gods  of  fashion 
to  dictate  to  us  in  the  matter  of  clothes,  of  social 
usages,  of  religion,  of  domestic  and  civic  archi- 
tecture, of  philanthropy  even.  Let  our  age  rise 
superior  to  these  gods  of  its  own  creating,  live  its 
life  sincerely  and  joyously,  and  breathe  into  its 
architecture  that  sentiment  of  brotherly  love  and 
mutual  dependence  and  assistance  which  should 
[193] 


be  the  flower  of  a  government  such  as  we  devoutly 
hope  we  have  established.  This  the  age  can  do 
only  by  self-analysis  and  the  conscious  expression 
of  all  that  it  holds  of  value  to  humanity.  As  the 
society  of  an  age  marks  its  status,  and  as  the 
society  of  a  democratic  age  depends  upon  the 
ideals  of  its  individual  units,  the  duty  of  the  in- 
dividual is  clear;  while  the  artist,  who  because  of 
a  rich  temperamental  and  spiritual  endowment  is 
called  upon  to  interpret  these  ideals,  is  vested 
with  a  responsibility  he  may  not  shirk  and  be  a 
man,  —  a  responsibility  as  deep  as  life  itself. 


[i94] 


XII 

AN  INDIVIDUAL  APPLICATION 


[196] 


AN  INDIVIDUAL  APPLICATION 


IN  preceding  chapters  I  have  formulated  a 
definition  of  architecture  which  appeals  to 
me  and  which  has  influenced  my  attitude 
toward  my  own  work  as  well  as  toward  all  in- 
dividual and  racial  expression  past  or  present.  I 
cannot  treat  as  real  architecture,  or  worthy  of 
serious  consideration  as  bearing  upon  the  problem 
of  today,  any  product  of  the  builder's  art  in  which 
the  exemplification  of  unified  and  perfected  char- 
acter is  not  sought  through  an  idealized  interpre- 
tation of  the  inhering  structural  forces.  I  can  see 
in  buildings  not  dominated  by  this  principle  noth- 
ing more  than  mere  scene  painting,  —  mere  theat- 
rical picture-making  in  three  dimensions  on  a  more 
or  less  stupendous  scale.  While  I  admire  the  art 
of  picture-making  in  its  proper  place,  yet,  as  ap- 
plied to  architecture,  I  conceive  it  to  be  most  de- 
grading and  debasing,  and  altogether  incompat- 
ible with  clear  thought  or  deep  feeling.  The  glory 
of  the  Renaissance  was  its  painting.  Its  architec- 
[i97] 


ture  dawned  as  gloriously,  but  again  the  grandeur 
that  was  Rome  overcame  a  glory  that  might  have 
been  the  Renaissance  had  the  Greek  spirit  pre- 
vailed and  had  not  the  painter-sculptors  of  the 
period^  begun  to  paint,  as  I  have  said,  in  three 
dimensions.  There  ceased  to  be  an  interpretation 
of  life  in  terms  of  structure,  and,  instead,  came 
a  painting  and  modeling  and  superficial  applica- 
tion of  forms  which  once  had  functioned  but  which 
now  were  dead;  not  that  the  forms  were  not 
beautiful,  —  as  the  human  lineaments  are  beauti- 
ful, often  more  beautiful,  in  death,  but  that  the 
spirit  had  vanished  and  the  forms  had  ceased  to 
bear  a  vital  relationship  to  living  art.  With  the 
Renaissance  began  the  reign  of  art  for  art's  sake, 
beauty  for  the  sake  of  entertainment  and  super- 
ficial adornment  rather  than  as  the  final  flower 
of  character.  In  the  spirit  of  the  Renaissance  a 
great  part  of  the  Western  World  is  now  moving, 
one  cannot  truly  say  living,  and  not  far  removed 
are  such  modern  Gothicists  as  would  seek  to  clothe 
the  present  in  mediaeval  forms.  A  Renaissance 
of  the  Gothic  could  only  result  in  a  miscarriage 
as  did  the  Renaissance  of  a  so-called  classic  culture. 
The  lesson  of  refinement  and  emotional  restraint 
we  may  perhaps  draw  from  the  art  of  the  Renais- 
sance the  lesson  of  aspiration  and  vigor  from 
medievalism;  the  Modern  Age  needs  to  learn 
[198] 


them  both,  —  but  it  needs  the  latter  more.  In 
this  spirit  of  the  Renaissance,  —  which  is  the 
spirit  of  scene  painting,  —  though  not  even  in  its 
three  dimensions,  move  those  moderns  of  the 
"  indigenous  "  school  who  treat  the  various  fa- 
c,ades  of  their  buildings  as  detached  planes  upon 
which  a  pattern  of  wall  surfaces  and  windows  is 
to  be  drawn  and  the  whole  or  a  part  of  which 
is  to  be  marked  off  with  a  border  unrelated  struc- 
turally or  aesthetically  to  the  building  as  a  whole. 
This  oft-occurring  offense  against  reality  is  de- 
nominated "  plastic  "  architecture  by  its  devotees 
and  is  an  architecture  of  manipulation  as  against 
articulation,  an  architecture  wanting  the  moral 
and  aesthetic  qualities  of  real  structure.  And  the 
leaders  of  this  self-styled  "  cult,"  which  unintelli- 
gently  follows  the  battle  cry  "  forms  must  func- 
tion "  and  u  progress  before  precedent,"  design 
these  framed-in  panels  of  wall  and  window  units 
with  total  disregard  to  any  established  or  under- 
lying principle,  —  now  treating  the  piers  and  win- 
dows vertically  and  then,  in  a  problem  involving 
identical  conditions  of  function  and  structure, 
superimposing  story  upon  story  in  horizontal  lami- 
nations; and  all  this  they  offer  as  an  expression 
of  present-day  ideals. 

Has  the  Modern  Age  an  inheritance  of  its  own? 
If  so,  why  not  enter  into  it?    Let  us  cease  to  dwell 
[i99] 


INDICATION 

ON  THE 

FACE  OFA  CUBE. 


fig  1  6    FORCE  DEVELOPING 


[  200  ] 


in  the  shadow  of  the  past,  in  the  mists  of  the 
present,  and  live  in  the  sunshine  of  the  always. 
In  a  democratic  state  the  initiative,  as  I  have  said, 
must  be  taken  by  the  individual;  and  the  impulse 
must  spread  from  individual  to  individual,  each 
adding  his  increment  till  the  whole  thinks  and  acts 
as  one.  Such  development  presupposes  that  the 
message  of  each  individual  shall  be  comprehen- 
sible to  every  other  individual,  and  that  it  shall 
be  capable  of  expression  in  terms  which  everyone 
can  understand  and  of  interpretation  in  forms 
which  everyone  can  employ.  This  chapter  tells 
in  part  the  tale  of  an  individual  effort  in  that 
direction. 

Let  our  thought  revert  for  a  moment  to  the 
Greek.  To  him  his  temple  was  a  symbol;  in  its 
every  detail  the  architecture  was  symbolic.  Let 
us,  too,  make  our  every  work  a  symbol.  Note 
again  the  capital  of  the  Doric  column.  The  beau- 
tiful line  of  the  echinus  develops  against  the  re- 
fractory form  of  the  abacus.  The  abacus,  as  I 
have  already  said,  is  a  cube  in  modified  form. 
We  accept  this  suggestion  and  in  our  individual 
interpretation  will  take  the  cube  as  one  of  the 
basic  forms  to  symbolize  the  fact,  one  of  the  hard 
facts,  of  life  we  are  to  meet  in  order  to  develop 
our  individual  character  which  is  itself  to  be  sym- 
bolized in  the  curve  developing  along  the  line  of 
[201] 


force.  The  cube  is  selected  for  two  very  important 
reasons,  one  ethical,  the  other  purely  aesthetic. 
The  cube  is  the  most  refractory  form  in  art.  Its 
surfaces  are  all  of  the  same  size,  the  angles  are 
all  the  same,  and  its  lines  are  of  equal  length; 
there  is  no  proportion,  no  flexibility.  Nothing 
would  seem  to  be  more  inherently  ugly,  nothing 
would  seem  to  fit  less  readily  into  any  scheme  of 
beauty.  The  cube  in  itself  makes  no  imaginative 
appeal.  The  spirit  rises  to  meet  this  object,  this 
fact  in  life;  a  field  of  force  is  developed  and  a  line 
of  beauty  results  from  the  conflict  (Fig.  i6-A). 
So  should  it  be  in  life  itself.  Perhaps  in  rising  to 
meet  this  obstacle  the  line  of  force  has  encountered 
a  lesser  obstacle  which,  although  overcome,  has 
left  the  impress  of  the  encounter  upon  the  aspiring 
spirit  (Fig.  i6-B).  Another  element  of  beauty 
has  entered  in  if  this  lesser  obstacle  has  rightly 
been  met.  When  the  aspiring  spirit  has  been 
diverted  from  its  upward  course  by  an  obstacle, 
it  will  seek  immediately  and  indeed  throughout 
the  conflict  to  assert  its  upward  tendency.  An 
expression  of  this  characteristic  will  keep  the  line 
firm  and  free,  the  form  from  weakness  or  inde- 
cision. In  a  democratic  community  one  inspiring 
altruistic  individual  helps  and  strengthens  another; 
the  character  of  one  is  modified  and  sometimes 
molded  by  contact  with  another  (Fig.  i6-C). 
[202] 


The  expression  now  is  not  that  of  the  Greek  Doric, 
in  which  the  development  of  a  single  force  was 
exemplified  by  the  shaft  of  the  column  and  by  the 
unity  of  the  echinus,  but  is  more  like  that  met  with 
in  the  Romanesque  and  later  in  the  communal 
expression  of  medievalism.  That  is  why  it  so 
appropriately  symbolizes  the  individual  amid 
modern  social  conditions  and  that  is  why  it  is  em- 
ployed. Perhaps  the  stronger  force  in  overcom- 
ing an  obstacle  has  given  character  and  definition 
to  a  weaker  neighbor  (Fig.  i6-D).  Again,  per- 
haps two  forces  developing  apart  and  individually 
have  influenced  a  third  and  have  been  influenced 
by  the  third  (Fig.  i6-E).  Another  element  of 
subtlety  and  beauty  has  entered,  and  the  symbol 
of  democracy,  of  interdependent,  interacting 
social  units,  is  developing  a  reasonable  fullness 
of  expression.  We  may  emphasize,  just  here,  the 
important  fact  that  these  lines  and  the  forms  they 
define  are  abstractions;  not  floral  or  vegetable 
conventions  but  abstract  symbols  of  forces  inhering 
in  the  structure.  When  it  comes  to  pure  decora- 
tion, which  may  with  propriety  occupy  the  zones 
of  repose,  the  flowing  life  in  the  stem  may  break 
into  leaf  and  bud  and  flower,  conventionalized  in 
harmony  with  the  environment;  but  this  decoration 
must  never  be  allowed  to  cross  the  axes  or  fields 
of  structural  force. 

[203] 


Again  notice  the  cube.  Even  in  its  refractori- 
ness, even  because  of  its  hard  unyielding  nature, 
it  has  added  an  element  of  aesthetic  strength  to  the 
design  and  will  affect  beneficently  the  larger  unity. 
To  the  design  it  brings  contrast  and  variety  both 
in  form  and  in  light  and  shade.  The  fact  behind 
the  form  was  necessary  that  character  might  enter 
into  life.  The  form  which  symbolizes  the  fact 
was  necessary  that  beauty  might  enter  into  art. 
But  the  fact  which  is  symbolized  by  the  cube,  an 
obstinate  fact  against  which  the  forces  must  beat, 
need  not  of  itself  be  ugly  —  it  need  only  be  firm 
and  unyielding.  That  obstacle  in  life,  which  is  to 
determine  by  the  manner  in  which  he  meets  it 
whether  an  individual  is  a  man  or  a  brute,  may  be 
ugly  or  it  may  be  beautiful.  It  may  be  riches,  it 
may  be  poverty;  it  may  be  a  beautiful  woman  or 
it  may  be  a  wayward  child;  it  may  be  death,  or  it 
may  be  the  fact  that  one  must  live ;  it  may  be  one 
of  a  thousand  things,  it  matters  not  what,  so  that 
it  be  a  thing  to  be  met  and  its  thwarting  and  de- 
pressing tendency  resisted.  It  may  be  demoniac 
or  it  may  be  divine.  For  the  artist  it  may  be  the 
painting  of  a  picture  or  the  carving  of  a  statue. 
In  the  case  of  anyone,  whomsoever,  it  may  be  self- 
imposed  or  it  may  be  laid  on  from  without.  And 
so  the  cube  may  become  lovely  and  interesting 
through  a  representation  on  its  surfaces  (Fig. 
[204] 


i6-F)  of  what  the  artist  conceives  to  be  of  its 
own  inner  nature.  There  is  a  suggestion  in  this 
figure  that  the  cube  is  a  cosmos  with  the  forces 
working  from  the  center  outward,  and  this  would 
symbolize  the  manner  in  which  the  real  solution 
of  an  architectural  problem  should  be  reached. 
There  are  innumerable  methods  for  a  character- 
istic treatment  of  the  cube,  this  being  but  one. 

A,  B,  C,  and  D  of  Fig.  16  serve  to  introduce 
the  elements  which  are  to  be  used  in  the  design  of 
the  ornament  in  the  individual  effort  at  expression 
which  I  am  now  presenting.  It  is  the  province  of 
the  artist  —  the  creator  —  to  impose  limitations 
and  so  to  choose  and  dictate  that  the  design  shall 
express  the  feeling  he  wishes  to  convey.  This  is 
one  exposition  of  the  law  of  purpose.  In  the 
round  the  mass  is  shaped  to  symbolize  the  force 
as  in  the  Greek  capitals;  on  the  surface  the  deco- 
ration virtually  must  be  an  aesthetic  "  X-ray " 
projection  of  what  the  artist  conceives  to  be  trans- 
piring within  the  mass,  —  the  aspiring  forces  de- 
veloping beauty  in  wall,  pier  and  column,  the  hori- 
zontal forces  developing  likewise  within  the  beam. 
Take  first  a  portion  of  the  wall,  setting  off  a  square 
as  most  harmonious  with  the  general  idea  and  as 
the  simplest  aesthetic  element  of  the  design. 
Within  that  square  we  place,  where  our  aesthetic 
desire  directs,  the  cubes,  —  represented  in  eleva- 
[205] 


tion  by  squares,  —  and  trace  the  direction  of  the 
forces  which  rise  to  meet  them  (Fig.  i6-G).  In 
this  design  all  of  the  moral  elements  already  noted 
are  introduced.  In  addition  there  is  that  other 
factor  which  was  discussed  when  we  analyzed  that 
aspiring  force  in  the  Greek  temple  as  it  ap- 
proached the  spiritual  barrier  and  yielded  to  the 
command  "  thus  far  shalt  thou  go  "  and  at  that 
point  developed  its  supreme  character.  So  when 
the  creator  sets  the  defining  limits  of  the  square  it 
devolves  upon  the  rising  force  to  meet  that  im- 
palpable boundary  in  the  utmost  richness  of  spirit 
and  beauty  of  form.  There  is  represented  in  this 
figure  a  development  which  makes  it  harmonious 
with,  and  an  epitome  of,  what  should  be  set  forth 
in  the  details  of  the  building  itself,  namely :  a  more 
rigid  and  unyielding  disposition  in  the  lower 
stories,  gaining  in  serenity  and  fullness  of  charac- 
ter as  the  rising  forces  begin  to  "  find  "  themselves 
and  reconcile  themselves  to  the  circumscribing 
conditions.  This  is  after  the  manner  in  which  a 
sentient  force  naturally  would  develop  while  the 
nature  of  the  materials  entering  into  the  structure 
should  correspond  to  such  an  expression.  One  of 
the  finest  characteristics  of  an  architectural  orna- 
ment based  on  a  representation  of  developing 
forces  is  that  it  lends  itself  to  an  expression  of  the 
nature  of  the  material  in  which  the  force  is  operat- 
[206] 


ing  and,  at  the  same  time,  preserves  a  unity 
throughout  the  entire  structure.  So,  for  example, 
in  the  granite  of  the  basement  or  lower  stories 
the  line  would  be  firm  and,  after  a  manner,  un- 
yielding, beginning  to  yield  more  and  more  as  the 
structure  arises.  In  the  soft  stone  and  the  marble 
the  lines  would  be  more  free  and  flowing,  being 
more  refined  in  the  marble.  In  the  terra  cotta 
and  plaster  the  lines  would  be  freer  still;  while  in 
the  colored  surface  decorations  there  might  well 
be  an  exuberance  of  line  controlled  only  by  the 
character  and  function  of  the  building.  In  inter- 
preting the  action  and  bearing  of  present-day 
forces  under  restraint  or  opposition,  I  have  always 
sought  to  give  the  optimistic  aspiring  touch  to  the 
form  (Fig.  ly-A)  rather  than  a  complete  return 
upon  self  which,  responding  to  a  basic  concept  in 
Greek  philosophy,  is  the  feeling  conveyed  by  the 
Ionic  volute  (Fig.  17-6)  and  by  the  line  of  the 
Doric  abacus,  if  we  conceive  the  curve  prolonged 
(Fig.  9~C).  This  rising  tendency  at  the  end  of 
the  curve,  this  reaching  out  and  up  into  the  future, 
is  essentially  symbolic  of  modern  thought  whether 
arising  from  a  belief  in  the  continuation  of  this 
life  in  a  future  state  of  existence,  the  product  of 
emotionalism,  or  from  the  more  poised  and  intel- 
lectual attitude  in  which  immortality  is  conceived 
as  residing  in  the  ever-broadening  influence  which 
[207] 


AN    INTERPRETATION 

OF 

COMPRESSION 


D  D 

17  DISPOSITION  OF  ORNAMENT 
[208] 


character  exerts  on  generations  yet  unborn.  Fur- 
thermore, a  rare  characteristic  of  the  ornament 
I  am  describing  is  that  it  lends  itself,  at  this  point, 
to  an  expression  of  such  emotionalism,  say,  as 
we  find  in  the  Gothic  with  its  virile,  vigorous 
forms,  and  at  that  point  to  an  expression  of  the 
poise  and  self-restraint  of  the  classic  with  all  its 
grace  and  refinement;  and,  if  so  be,  all  this  in 
one  composition  and  in  full  harmony.  And  so  into 
one  structure,  while  still  conserving  harmony  and 
the  greater  unity,  variety  may  be  introduced,  — 
variety  sufficient  to  meet  the  spiritual,  not  to  say 
temperamental  needs  of  any  individual  in  our  very 
involved  and  complex  social  order. 

Not  only  is  the  individual  square  or  cube,  or 
whatever  form  the  unit  of  ornament  may  take, 
capable  of  wide  range  of  expression,  but  an  ar- 
rangement of  the  units  will  enforce  the  character 
of  the  ornament  in  the  highest  degree.  For  in- 
stance, horizontality  is  to  be  expressed;  the  units 
are  placed  side  by  side  (Fig.  I7~C)  in  such  fashion 
as  may  best  suit  the  requirements.  Or,  verticality 
is  the  motive;  a  proper  arrangement  of  the  units 
will  express  that  feeling  (Fig.  ly-D-D).  The 
feeling,  be  it  noted,  lends  itself  to  presentation  in 
the  flat,  in  low  or  high  relief  or  in  the  round. 
While  the  dominant  motive  may  be  either  hori- 
zontality or  verticality,  yet  within  the  unit  the 
[209] 


A 


ENTABLATURE 


B 


ENTABLATURE. 


18     RHYTHMIC  MOVEMENT         J 

[210] 


A 


uwwy 


B 


C 


D 


D 


19    FUNCTIONAL  EXPRESSION.    J 

[2H] 


force  is  always  ascending,  never  diverted  from  its 
true  purpose,  as  residing  in  the  soul  of  humanity 
and  in  nature. 

The  horizontal  force  of  compression  in  the 
beam  finds  full  aesthetic  expression  in  the  terms 
of  this  ornament  in  which  the  force  is  correctly 
interpreted  as  pushing  away  in  two  directions 
from  the  center,  the  cube  again  typifying  the  re- 
sistance the  force  is  to  meet.  Applied  to  a  beam 
or  girder  in  a  building,  the  form  in  its  simplest 
terms  would  be  as  indicated  in  Fig.  ly-E  and  F. 
If  it  is  desirable  to  include  an  expression  of  the 
ascending  spirit,  as  would  be  ^quite  necessary  in  an 
entablature,  a  manner  of  it  is  indicated  in  Fig. 
1 8— A  and  B,  of  which  A  would  be  the  simpler  form, 
and  B  the  more  ornate.  Again,  if  it  is  desired  to 
express  the  meeting  of  wall  and  ceiling  in  a  more 
ornate  manner  than  by  the  simple  molding,  such 
manner  is  indicated  in  Fig.  i8-C,  D,  and  E, 
which  are  but  suggestions  from  a  multitude  of 
forms  and  combinations  which  will  occur  to  any 
imaginative  mind.  Fig.  I9~A,  B,  and  C  will  in- 
dicate the  adaptability  of  this  type  of  ornament 
to  the  design  of  the  capital  where  the  feature  is 
called  for  on  column  or  on  pier.  It  often  is  desir- 
able, for  the  sake  of  creating  a  certain  effect,  to 
omit  the  capital,  especially  from  the  pier,  at  the 
same  time  that  the  design  calls  for  detail  and  a 

[212] 


harmonizing  of  the  feature  with  the  surroundings. 
This  has  been  accomplished  as  is  indicated  in 
Fig.  I9-D-D,  the  character  and  nature  of  the 
force  being  expressed  in  the  carvings  of  the 
squares  or  oblongs.  A  clean-cut  expression  of 
strength  and  refinement  is  obtained  by  this  method. 
The  oblong  lends  itself  most  readily  to  design  of 
this  character  (Fig.  I9-E).  As  within  the  square, 
the  units  typifying  restraint  are  so  ordered  as  to 
cause  the  lines  of  force  to  conform,  and  make  the 
pattern  conform,  to  the  larger  spirit  of  the  struc- 
ture. The  oblong  so  used  upon  wall  or  pier  would 
naturally  be  disposed  vertically,  though  its  appli- 
cation might  be  made  horizontally  in  the  upper 
field  of  a  beam  when  delicacy  rather  than  strength 
dictated  the  feeling. 

And  now  we  reach  the  interesting  phase  where 
color  enters.  To  the  mind's  eye  the  ornaments 
I  have  just  been  presenting  have  probably  ap- 
peared as  outline  or  as  masses  defined  by  light 
and  shade  and  shadow.  Imagine  the  field  for 
color  which  opens  before  us,  and  the  potency  of 
color  in  giving  definition  and  distinction  to  orna- 
ment such  as  this.  Each  of  these  lines  of  force, 
developing  now  against  the  final  obstacle  or  re- 
straining power,  developing  now  by  contact  with 
its  neighbor  or  gaining  character  from  a  force  it 
has  subdued,  each  of  these  individual  expressions 
[213] 


A 


B 


g  £0    SCULPTURE  AS  A  MEDIUM  j|. 
[214] 


of  force  is  a  unit  in  a  democracy  of  altruism  sym- 
bolized by  this  ornament  and  each  as  a  unit  and  as 
an  expression  of  individuality  is  entitled  to  its  own 
color  characterization  in  any  scheme  into  which 
color  may  be  called  to  enter  (see  frontispiece). 
The  psychology  of  individual  attraction  is  a  fas- 
cinating subject  for  exposition  in  color.  Forces 
with  similar  characteristics,  spiritual  and  physical, 
developing  under  similar  conditions,  would  be 
given  harmonious  or  contrasting  colors,  and  the 
forces  they  affect  or  greatly  influence  would  be 
given  contrasting  or  harmonious  colors  or  shades 
—  visualizing  the  law  of  selection  as  we  see  it 
working  in  nature  —  human  and  otherwise.  And 
so  we  have  practically  an  unlimited  field  in  which 
to  exercise  the  power,  the  charm,  the  mystery  in- 
hering in  color  and  at  the  same  time  to  cause  color 
to  take  an  exalted  place  in  enforcing  the  character 
of  structure.  Under  the  hand  of  the  knowing 
colorist  the  wall  may  take  on  all  the  richness  and 
seeming  intricacy  of  an  Oriental  tapestry  and  all 
the  while  be  interpreting  the  laws  of  life  and  re- 
vealing them  in  structural  expression  rather  than 
concealing  the  structural  principle  beneath  a  super- 
ficial covering  of  purely  extraneous  ornament. 
The  patterns  in  which  the  cubes  or  squares  repeat 
so  frequently  may  be  relieved  of  any  sense  of 
monotony  by  giving  each  square  or  cube  its  indi- 
[215] 


vldual  color;  which  also  will  enforce  the  idea 
already  advanced  that  these  u  obstacles  "  are  not 
necessarily  ugly  but  may  be  of  supreme  beauty  in 
themselves  and  in  relation  to  the  ultimate  design. 
Now,  having  dealt  with  abstract  form  and 
color,  let  me  indicate  the  place  of  sculpture  in  this 
individualistic  interpretation.  I  have  said  that  in 
the  Atlantes  of  the  Doric  lay  the  finer  of  the  two 
Greek  conceptions  in  structural  symbolism  and 
that  the  idea  had  never  been  pushed  to  its  con- 
clusion by  the  Greeks.  Perhaps  in  the  more  in- 
volved modern  expression  it  can  be  employed  to 
advantage.  Take  the  column  and  the  pier;  but 
more  especially  the  pier,  as  presenting  the  simplest 
case.  In  the  place  of  the  floral  or  the  conventional 
capital  let  us  suggest  the  conventionalized  figure. 
The  idea  lends  itself  to  so  many  forms  of  presen- 
tation that  we  are  bewildered  by  the  fullness  of 
the  choice.  First,  we  may  take  a  single  figure 
comparable  to  one  of  the  Atlantes  (Fig.  2O-A), 
and  again,  a  group  (Fig.  2O-B),  and  again,  the 
decorative  panel  (Fig.  2O-C).  The  development 
of  this  feature  in  our  time  should  appeal  to  the 
democratic  spirit;  for  the  introduction  of  sym- 
bolic sculpture  into  our  structures  will  give  oppor- 
tunity for  the  artist  as  against  the  artisan,  the 
freeman  as  against  the  slave,  the  individual  as 
against  the  master.  The  sculptor  as  against  the 


carver,  that  is,  as  against  the  mechanical  repeater 
of  the  designs  of  another,  will  add  a  source  of 
strength  and  beauty  and  interest  to  a  modern  ex- 
pression. In  my  humble  estimation  one  small 
human  figure,  symbolizing  life  in  terms  of  struc- 
tural force,  carved  into  the  portal  of  a  building 
would  be  of  greater  moral  and  aesthetic  worth  to 
the  people  today  than  would  many  square  yards 
of  festoons,  functionless  moldings,  shields,  and 
cartouches,  even  when  the  reason  or  excuse  given 
for  these  latter  is  that  they  function  for  beauty. 

Sufficient  has  now  been  said  to  indicate  the  na- 
ture of  the  architectural  ornament  in  this  particu- 
lar individual  application.  It  has  been  only  fair, 
having  weighed  certain  existing  forms  and  details 
and  found  them  wanting,  at  least  in  their  present 
application,  to  suggest  in  their  stead  something 
which  might  possibly  be  suited  to  modern  needs 
and  ideals.  And  this  constructive  criticism  should 
extend  to  mass  as  defining  and  interpreting  the 
broader  conception.  To  begin  with,  let  us  con- 
ceive that  the  state  is  but  a  larger  and  fuller  ex- 
pression of  the  individual,  —  the  machine  through 
the  operation  of  which  the  individual  function  is 
most  fully  conserved  and  guaranteed.  Whatever 
rightly  interprets  and  fits  the  individual  should, 
more  powerfully  symbolized,  rightly  fit  and  inter- 
pret the  state ;  and  what  is  true  of  the  state  is  true, 
[217] 


STATE-HOUSE  cHARACirasnc  MASSES 


[218] 


UPPER.  STORIES 


UftXK.  0  1  UKJC.5  I\ 

OF  A  TOWER  OfflCE  BUILDING..  .£ . 


[219] 


only  in  lesser  degree,  of  the  various  social,  com- 
mercial, industrial,  institutional,  and  other  mani- 
festations of  the  common  life.  No  basic  form  is 
needed  in  the  expression  of  one  of  these  factors 
which,  duly  modified  and  environed,  might  not 
with  equal  propriety  appear  in  another.  Take 
an  example;  the  arch  in  its  segmental  or  in  its 
two-centered  form,  flattened  and  buttressed  by 
powerful  masses  shaped  to  symbolize  in  the  highest 
degree  poise,  self-control,  and  inherent  strength, 
might  well  appear  in  statehouse  (Fig.  21)  and  'i 
municipal  building,  while  the  same  feature,  more 
emotionally  presented,  and  buttressed  by  piers  in 
which  the  exalted  spirit  is  manifested,  would  truly 
bespeak  the  religious  edifice,  and,  modified  by 
horizontality,  the  institutional  building.  Rhyth- 
mically disposed  and  subdued  in  scale  the  arch 
finds  appropriate  setting  in  the  dwelling.  Again, 
the  pier,  even  under  certain  conditions  refined  to 
the  column,  may  be  given  a  form  and  setting  ap- 
propriate to  individual,  institutional,  municipal, 
or  national  expression  when  the  nature  of  the 
structure  permits  its  presence  functionally.  Into 
all  types  and  classes  of  structures  the  pyramidal 
motive  should  enter  to  conserve  the  larger  internal 
unity  as  in  the  Greek  temple  or,  properly  to  relate 
the  dominant  mass  to  the  larger  aspects  of  its 
physical  environment,  as  in  the  Egyptian  tomb, 
[220] 


or  the  mediaeval  spire.  Modern  methods  of  con- 
struction lend  themselves  to  the  expression  of 
this  motive  by  set  backs  or  retreating  walls  (Figs. 
21-22)  in  steel-framed  structures  and  by  beveled, 
molded,  or  buttressed  corners  in  masonry  con- 
struction, as  well  as  in  the  cloaking  of  the  steel 
uprights. 

I  have  endeavored  to  indicate  in  Figs.  16-24 
a  possible  treatment  of  certain  of  the  elements 
of  this  vast  problem,  dealing  now  with  detail  and 
again  with  the  presentation  of  the  greater  mass. 
There  is  no  attempt  at  originality  after  the  man- 
ner which  has  cast  distrust  upon  that  much-abused 
idea,  but,  rather,  a  reasonable  and  logical  state- 
ment in  aesthetic  terms.  The  thought  underlying 
these  drawings  must  from  the  necessities  of  the 
case  be  but  weakly  and  insufficiently  presented; 
but  the  imaginative  and  temperamental  mind  will 
be  able  to  visualize  the  forms,  and,  in  the  light 
which  has  been  cast  upon  them  from  these  pages, 
be  able  also  to  determine  whether  what  they  are 
intended  to  suggest  in  any  way  fits  into  the  scheme 
"  of  things  as  they  are."  The  mind  endowed  with 
creative  imagination  will  be  able  to  estimate  in 
how  far  a  truly  and  broadly  sympathetic  chord 
has  been  struck;  and  if  that  mind  is  further  en- 
dowed with  constructive  imagination  it  will  deter- 
mine for  itself  in  how  far,  if  at  all,  the  spirit  has 

[221] 


23  ENTRANCE  TO  A  CITY  CLUB 
[222  ] 


Fig   <?4  FORMS  SUGGESTIVE  OF  TOE  CO 


[223] 


been  embodied  in  the  forms  and  after  the  manner 
I  have  sought  to  disclose.  I  am  trying,  as  I  al- 
ready have  said,  to  add  a  sincere,  though  as  I  am 
most  conscious  a  humble,  individual  increment  to 
a  worthy  and  compelling  interpretation  in  archi- 
tecture of  the  spirit  of  a  helpful,  altruistic,  and 
then,  let  us  hope,  an  abiding  democracy. 

An  old  precept  runs :  "  Obstacles  are  God's  best 
gifts  to  man."  That  is  but  another  way  of  saying 
that  out  of  the  struggle  of  life  must  come  perfec- 
tion of  character,  that  out  of  the  conflict  of 
opposing  forces  must  come  beauty;  else  were  we 
barbarians.  Out  of  all  the  struggle  of  the  race 
and  the  individual  upward  out  of  barbarism  and 
childhood  have  come  civilization  and  the  full 
fruition  of  manhood;  out  of  chaos  has  come 
order;  out  of  strain  and  stress  has  come  beauty. 
To  conserve  that  beauty,  to  interpret  and  express 
it,  is  the  privilege  and  duty  of  the  artist.  To  live 
in  that  beauty  and  make  it  a  part  of  his  being  is 
the  privilege  as  well  as  the  duty  of  every  civilized 
man.  This  he  may  do  by  regulating  the  thoughts 
and  acts  of  his  daily  life.  The  regulation  of 
thought  and  act  with  the  idea  of  making  —  not 
getting  —  making  the  most  out  of  life  is  called 
art.  It  goes  down  into  and  touches  the  seemingly 
most  insignificant  act  and  thought  as  well  as  the 
most  important.  Poetry,  music,  and  the  fine  arts 

[224] 


—  painting,  sculpture,  and  architecture  —  are  its 
grandest  expressions  and  those  who  make  a  pro- 
fession of  these  arts  are  called  artists;  but  they 
are  no  more  artists  than  are  the  men  who  listen 
to  the  voice  of  beauty  and  answer  its  call  in  the 
shaping  of  their  lives.  .  When  I  read  poetry  and 
hear  music,  and  behold  the  wonderful  rhythmic 
performances  of  juggler  or  of  acrobat,  and  study 
the  fine  manipulation  of  sculptor  or  of  painter, 
I  feel  that  there  must  be  an  art  which  sums  them 
all  up.  And  I  find  that  in  the  great  periods  of  the 
past  there  was  such  an  art  and  that  it  was  architec- 
ture. I  believe  that  again  architecture  may  become 
as  potent  an  expression  of  an  influence  upon  life  as 
it  was  in  the  past;  but  this  can  only  come  through 
a  conscious  and  concerted  effort  on  the  part  of 
society  and  the  artist.  Because  of  the  diversity  of 
our  origins  and  ideals  the  unification  of  society 
must  be  a  long  time  —  perhaps  centuries  —  in 
coming.  There  is,  however,  much  which  we  hold 
in  common,  and  on  this  we  must  concentrate,  and 
to  this  we  must  give  the  most  sincere  form  of  ex- 
pression of  which  we  are  capable,  thinking  of  the 
problem  in  relation  to  ourselves  and  to  our  times, 
and  not  solving  it  as  someone  else,  at  some  other 
time,  and  under  dissimilar  conditions,  saw  fit  to 
solve  his  problem.  We  should  seek  to  understand 
those  conditions  as  we  would  seek  to  understand 
[225] 


our  own  conditions;  and  this  broader  understand- 
ing will  aid  us  to  a  richer  expression  of  ourselves. 
But  architecture  will  not  be  what  once  it  was,  nor 
what  it  should  again  become,  unless  there  be  con- 
centration of  effort  and  directness  ot  purpose. 
And  so,  to  the  end  that  a  great  art  may  live  again, 
let  us  strive,  —  society  as  a  whole  by  the  sincerity 
and  fullness  of  its  effort,  —  the  artist  by  the  truth 
and  beauty  of  his  interpretation. 


[226] 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


20Nov'56?W 
REC'D  LD 

1    1951 


IN  STACKS 

DEC  1  Ot 
A*' 


01 

10  1958 


REC'D  LD 

OCT  20 1957 

LD  21-100m-7,'52(JlR 


13  1970 


I    7197237 


rtE'C  O  LD 

DEC  16  1961 
«   MAY  3172'-7PM  59 


